Keeping the Castle
by 1755
Summary: Uncertainty, secrets and fear have become routine for the remaining members of Dumbledore's Army. Yet they all have their roles: Neville and Ginny are their leaders. Lavender is their healer. And Seamus, well, Seamus is their spymaster.
1. Clover

Alright. Attempt #2 at a DA- and Seamus-centric multi-chapter (y'all know he's my favourite). I had the first chapter of one up a few weeks ago but took it down because I didn't like it and didn't quite know where I was going with it. I still had those plot-bunnies hopping around my head, so this was born. Let me know what you think of this first chapter.

This first chapter is pretty tame, but general warnings for what's coming: there's inevitably going to be torture, drinking, probably drugs, definitely cussing, absolutely some sex (definitely m/m, maybe some m/f, who knows). I'll put up individual warnings before each chapter.

ETA, 11/02/16: Recently changed the verb tense from present to past, so I'd really appreciate it if you could send me any ones I forgot!

XO, Karo

* * *

It was late when Neville finally limped into the common room after his detention, favouring his left leg and pinching his nose, red with blood. In silence, Lavender jumped up from her armchair and pulled out her wand, carefully putting her arm around the man to help him sit, where she performed the healing spells she'd been learning in secret with Madam Pomfrey.

Seamus regarded them quietly from his seat near the fire. The elves had only recently begun lighting it, as it was only mid-October, but Seamus took comfort in the heat and the flickering light. He liked fire, always had really. It made him feel as if there was something bigger than he was out there, and that feeling was something he needed now more than ever.

This has become part of a painful, unwanted routine – the waiting for the latest victim, then the inevitable healing. Seamus came for the information, which he then passed along to the Order, and Lavender (though sometimes it was Hannah Abbott) stayed to close the wounds, of which there were always many.

"Who was it this time?" he asked quietly after Lavender stepped away and the blood had stopped dripping down Neville's dimpled chin.

"Zabini and Nott."

Seamus frowned. Nott was a regular to the detentions, though he was never there for punishment but for punishing. His arm was newly painted with the Mark – he seemed to relish in using it to inspire fear in the younger students and pain in the older (though lately, the Carrows had become less discriminatory over who they chose to endure the torture sessions). Zabini, however, did not often make an appearance. In fact, Seamus remembered him participating only once, when Seamus was the unfortunate victim, weeks ago.

"Zabini?" Lavender asked, casting a non-verbal spell at her hands to rid them of Neville's blood. She really had been getting rather good at non-verbals, and had even begun teaching the others.

"Yeah, it was odd. Lav, why don't you get some sleep? We've got Herbology in the morning," Neville said gently, clasping her hand. She nodded.

"If your nose starts bleeding again, do what I showed you. Tilt your head forward and pinch the bridge of your nose. Try to put something cold on the back of your neck." She squeezed Neville's hand before turning to leave, her long braid swishing behind her back. "Goodnight," she called out softly, disappearing up the staircase.

Seamus watched her go, wishing he too could go to bed. Not yet, though. He knew Neville had information for him.

"How was it?" he said, his voice low. He did not usually like the answer, but he always felt compelled to ask. Neville stood and made his way to Seamus' spot by the hearth, eyes darting to the portrait hole as if to make sure no one had entered, then to the portraits surrounding them. They were asleep, and this seemed to satisfy him, as he nodded once before sitting next to his friend on the large chair.

"Strange," he whispered. That was not the answer Seamus expected, and Neville closed his eyes after he said it.

"Strange how? Because of Zabini?"

"He Imperiused me."

"What?!" Seamus yelped, loud enough to startle a few portraits who muttered angrily before falling asleep again. "Why?" he hissed. This was new. And terrifying.

"Not for long, just while he was… hitting me." Neville shook his head. "Except, he wasn't hitting me hard. He used the curse to make me scream. Pretend I was hurt, like."

Seamus sat back and crossed his arms. The fire crackled in front of them and the light glinted off his watch – it was nearly one in the morning, and he was fighting exhaustion with willpower he never used to possess. He was never one for change either, but now his body fed off of it, ravenous. He was not exactly thriving, but he was definitely surviving, and that was more than enough, these days.

"Well, are you alright now?" he asked, drumming his fingers against his arm.

Neville nodded. "Yeah. It really wasn't for a long time, and he made sure no one noticed." They sat in silence for a beat, turning over the information in their minds.

"So he didn't want to hurt you," Seamus said, pale brows furrowed in thought. "Then I suppose Nott did the nose and the rest?"

"Yeah. There's something else, too." Neville was reaching into his pocket for something – a small envelope, it seemed, sealed shut, with a small drawing of something on the front, partially obscured by Neville's thumb. "I can't open it, but I think you might be able to."

"Me?" Seamus reached over to take it – the thing he saw scribbled on it was a four-leaf clover, small and misshapen, but unmistakeable. He examines it carefully, turning it around to look for any indication of what it was. He held it up to the light and saw nothing, but felt a slight tingle of magic when he traced the clover with his fingers. "Did he say anything about it?"

"No, just slipped it into my hand while no one was looking before they let me out of the dungeon. I don't think there are any curses on it, I checked. Just the spell stopping me from opening it."

Seamus nodded and tried to rip it open with fingers calloused from summers filled with heavy-lifting on the docks by his cliffside home – the paper wouldn't budge. He held it to the fire, and it didn't catch.

"I don't even know what kind of spell it is," Neville said, shrugging. Seamus moved to take his wand out of his boot before stopping midway and straightening, a small smile playing on his lips.

He held the envelope up to his face, and whispered something to it Neville didn't understand.

" _Oscail_."

It worked, whatever it was; the envelope fluttered open gracefully, and the clover faded. Really, it was beautiful magic, and something Seamus would have loved to learn and use.

"What did you say? That wasn't any spell I've ever heard before," Neville said, tilting his head.

"I just said 'open' in Irish. Call it a hunch." Neville whistled lowly, impressed, while Seamus quickly pulled out the piece of parchment tucked inside the now-pristine envelope.

"How did he know?"

"He's in my Ancient Runes class, so he must have heard me talk to Professor Babbling in Gaelic. That's all I can think of." Seamus unfolded the parchment and quickly scanned it with his eyes, mouth tightening into a thin line.

"Well, what does it say?" Neville asked, leaning forward. The fire was dimming now, and he stifled a yawn. Seamus said nothing, only handed his friend the paper as he stared at the dying embers, biting his lip in thought.

Neville read it aloud: " _Let's make a deal. Kitchens. Midnight tomorrow. Alone. Tell no one._ " He looked up, brown eyes wide. "You're not going to go, are you? Jesus, Shay. He's a Slytherin. He Imperiused me!"

"That was part of the message too, I think. Look, I'll go early and talk to Dobby. He'll come get you and Gin if there's any trouble." Seamus stood abruptly, and Neville craned his neck to look up at him.

"Seamus…" His tone held something akin to a warning and was laced with uncertainty.

"I have to see what he wants."

"But –"

Seamus raised his hand to stop him. "Neville, let me do this. I'll be fine." His tone was harsher than he'd intended, but he didn't apologize.

"A hunch?" Neville asked, standing too. He had been taller than Seamus for years now, who always was the shortest of their dorm, and who stood at least six inches below Dean. Seamus' chest tightened in a too-familiar way when he thought of Dean – he had had no contact with his friend for two months now, and all he could do is hope he was still alive. All the more reason, then, to take this risk: if it could help Dean, and help the Order (and Seamus' intuition whispered _yes, it will_ ), then he had to.

The wind was loud outside, swirling around the tower, and Seamus wondered if it was blowing where Dean was, too.

"Yeah. A hunch."


	2. Game

A/N: Thanks for the reviews! I take each one seriously and try to fix my canon-discrepancies and such.

* * *

The wind was still strong and the sky was grey when Neville and Seamus awoke in their room, yawning as if only minutes had passed since their late-night discussion. Three cold, unused beds stared at them as they rose from their dishevelled ones, and the sight of them was enough to make Seamus want to turn his back and curl up against the stone wall. It had taken him a long time to get used to the quiet and all the empty space created by his friends' absences – it was odd, being here, without Ron's hacking snores or Harry's constant muttering in his dreams, without Dean's paintbrushes and socks scattered around the floor. And Seamus, who had always felt more at ease around other people than alone, felt lost without the things and sounds and smells and sights he hadn't realized had become unlikely comforts.

The day passed by slowly in a haze of exhaustion and constant paranoia. The corridors, which were once full of laughter and gossip and snogging, were emptier, and students rushed to their classrooms with their heads down, walking in tight silent groups. Loud noises made them jump, and whispers stopped when passing groups of Slytherins. Eyes darted back and forth, constantly assessing who surrounded them – this was what war looked from within school walls, all hushed voices and quick steps, slumped shoulders and bitten-down nails.

It was Tuesday, which meant Potions and double Charms for Seamus – a blessing, really, because he was tired and his patience was too thin to deal with the likes of the Carrows. He was distracted, too. Sitting next to Parvati in Charms, she stopped him from accidentally lighting on fire the chair he was meant to be cushioning, though not fast enough to avoid Professor Flitwick from reprimanding him and recommending a nap after class.

"I thought you'd gotten over your tendency to light things on fire!" Parvati whispered, giggling. He didn't feel like laughing, but offered her a weak smile instead.

"Guess not. Thanks."

The note from Zabini weighed heavily in his pocket all day long.

::

Prompted by the worsening of the detentions, the DA had begun meeting again three weeks ago. The group that had met in the library then, Neville, Ginny, Luna, Lavender and Seamus, had known that their ranks would grow this year, and they'd seen glints of gold coins flashing in their common rooms often enough to know that the student population was ready and waiting. And so Luna had called upon the older recruits, their other friends, to meet and choose how to proceed, and it was decided that a new structure was needed.

On Tuesdays, the whole group met in the Room of Requirement to discuss the past week, and the gathering was followed by mandatory homework session, where Padma and the other Ravenclaws helped the few younger members while the older exchanged notes and corrected each others' essays. Thursdays were for jinxes and charms and curses, and Wednesdays were for those who wanted to learn to heal wounds. The schedule worked, but the group numbered only nineteen so far, and if it grew, they were going to have to split it in half based on skill level.

Really, Seamus was proud of his friends, and proud of their disciplined and organized group, he thought as he entered the Room with Ginny under heavy Disillusionment charms (it had been the first spell they'd learned, knowing they needed to take precautions if they were to be out past curfew). Luna was already there – she always arrived early to take chairs out and place them in a circle ("Because we are all on the same level," she had said the first time). Seamus leaned over to kiss her on the cheek as he took the seat next to her.

"How are you, Luna?" he said. She smiled at him and crossed her legs gracefully.

"Oh, I'm good. I read the most wonderful bit of poetry just now, it was quite lovely."

Luna had a thin red leather-bound tome sitting on her lap, and her thumb stroked the binding almost lovingly. For these nights, the Room filled itself with books, quills, ink and parchment, and had old wooden tables scattered about with chairs that adjusted to the height of the user. There was a whole wall of dictionaries and reference books, and even a rolling chalkboard tucked away by a shelf.

Soon, the others began trickling in – Michael Corner, with his perpetual meticulously-filled agenda tucked under his arm, Lavender and the Patil twins, deep in discussion about magical theory, Hannah Abbott and Susan Bones followed by two younger Hufflepuff girls whose names Seamus hadn't remembered yet, Anthony Goldstein, Dorothy Fairweather, one of Ginny's soft-spoken dormmates, Su Li and Terry Boot, chatting excitedly, and many more. Some of them, Seamus had barely ever spoken to, but he felt a spark of something unfamiliar yet not unpleasant burn in his chest every time someone walked in. Like – well, like protectiveness.

"Anyone seen Neville yet?" Ginny called out to the group as they began sitting. A few shook their heads.

"Thought I'd seen him near the greenhouses earlier," said Ritchie Coote, a Gryffindor two years below Seamus, who'd been one of the first new recruits.

"He's always near the greenhouses." Hannah rolled her eyes as she said it, but she was smiling almost fondly. "That doesn't mean anything."

"I hope he didn't get detention again," Ginny said with a sigh.

"Nah, I was with him all day. He's probably just running late, you know Neville," Seamus waved his hand in dismissal. "Let's start without him."

"Right. Well, have we heard of anyone who's got a session this week?" Ginny sat too, fiddling with her wand. Most shook their heads at her question.

"Yes, Randolph Burrow. He's in our year. Not one of us, though," said Anthony, gesturing around the circle. He shrugged.

"You know the rule. As long as he's not one of them, we help." Ginny lifted her chin sternly, and Anthony rolled his eyes.

"Yeah yeah, you Gryffindors. He's a good enough sort, anyway. Always got his nose in a book."

"Yeah yeah, you Ravenclaws," Seamus quipped, and there was a smattering of quiet laughter. "What did he do then, to get detention?"

"Oh, he was reading in the corridor and ran into—"

Just then, the doors squeaked open and Neville slid inside, his breath short and his mouth in a wide smile. He was holding a thick, old book, that had pages and what looked like leaves peeking out from the side.

"Welcome, Neville. We are so glad to have you with us here tonight," Seamus said, his voice monotone, standing and holding his hand out for a shake. Anthony snorted and Lavender shot him a sharp look but Neville, of course, ignored him and dragged a chair to sit between Hannah and Michael.

"You'll never guess where I've just been!" he said, clearly excited.

"I think we will, Nev," Hannah said, winking at Ritchie. Neville opened his mouth to answer but closed it when he looked down at his hands – they were still dirt-encrusted, and his boots had created a trail of brown flecks leading to his seat, leaving no question to his previous whereabouts.

"Well," he said, "you'll never guess why I was there!" He hastily took out his wand and whispered a spell to banish the dirt.

"You were having sex with the Devil's Snare?"

"Seamus!"

"Sorry, Mam – I mean, Ginny."

Neville raised his eyebrows at his friend across the circle, his face still broken into an amused smile. "First of all, that would be awfully unpleasant, but if you want I can sneak some into our dorm for you. To each his own."

Seamus laughed as Hannah slapped Neville lightly on the arm.

"Second of all, no, I was with Professor Sprout and Madam Pomfrey. We're going to have a garden, just for the DA!" He seemed so happy at the news, but no one reacted.

"Neville, how will that help us?" Luna asked gently, entwining her fingers together over her book of poetry.

"Oh, right. It'll be for growing healing herbs and plants for potions that we can brew here. All secretly, of course, I don't even know where it's going to be yet. And I'm rubbish at potions, someone else will have to do that bit." He looked pointedly at Michael beside him, whose precision and perfectionism had always lended itself well to potion-making. Michael smiled, making a note in his planner.

"That's excellent," Lavender said, beaming. She had been telling Seamus just this morning how eager she was to learn more advanced healing techniques.

"This has information on the herbs I'll be growing," Neville said, tapping the tattered book he was holding with his knuckles. Dust rose in the air as he did.

Ginny nodded briskly. "Right then, you'll keep us updated on that. Now, we've got Randolph Burrows, anyone know when his session is?"

The meeting didn't take very long, and soon the chairs were brought to the tables. Quills scratched against parchment and the students spoke softly together; an easy sense of camaraderie and sharing had permeated Tuesday study nights since their beginning only a few weeks ago. It had been Padma's idea at first, when she'd realized that stress was adversely affecting most students' work, and no one had protested her suggestion.

Seamus was sitting at a table with Lavender and Luna, discussing Divination, when he felt a light hand on his shoulder. It was Neville, and Seamus' mouth tightened when he saw the soft look of concern in his brown eyes.

"Seamus? Can I have a word?"

It was late, well past eleven, and some of the youngest students at neighbouring tables had begun putting their things away to get ready to leave. Seamus stood to follow Neville into a corner of the room, sticking his hand in his pocket to brush the note from Zabini for the hundredth time that day.

"I'm in trouble now. Goodbye girls, goodbye cruel world," he said, winking at Lavender and Luna before joining Neville.

"All right there, Seamus?" Neville asked, but he didn't wait for an answer. His voice was nervous and he stared at his feet. "Look, the more I've been thinking about his, the more I think you shouldn't do this. It feels like a trap."

Seamus shook his head. "The more I've been thinking about it, the more I realize I've got nothing to lose. And anyway, why would it be a trap?"

Neville looked up at him sharply and fixed him with his gaze. "How could you say that? You've got everything to lose. You're being melodramatic."

"Aye, and you've always loved me for it. What could they possibly want from me, anyway? Why would it be a trap?" he repeated, holding out his hands in exasperation.

"Why do they do anything at all? I don't know, but he obviously wants something from you."

"Well then, I've got to find out what it is, haven't I? No, look, Neville. I've got to do something. I feel useless. Ginny's great at jinxes, you've got your garden and all, and Lavender's got her training. I've got nothing."

"That's not true," Neville said a bit too loudly, darting his eyes to the tables nearest to see if they'd heard anything. "You're our contact with the Order," he whispered. No one but Neville and Ginny knew this; they couldn't risk anyone overhearing such information.

"Please, Neville. I write down a measly couple sentences a week and hide them in my Transfiguration homework for McGonagall. That's hardly anything." Seamus raised his shoulders. "I told you I'd talk to Dobby. I want to see what Zabini wants."

Neville just sighed, sensing the argument was over. "If you think about it hard enough, the Room will probably let you out near the kitchens. You should go soon."

Seamus clapped him on the back. "Don't wait up for me, alright?"

He knew Neville would anyway.

::

Dobby, having been explained by Seamus what was going to happen in a few minutes, was smattering around nervously with a few other elves around the enormous kitchen, bulbous eyes even wider than normal. Of course, he'd readily agreed – "If a friend of Harry Potter's needs help, then Dobby will do all he can!" – but subtlety was not his strongest trait, and Seamus was beginning to regret asking for the favour around the third time Dobby came by to wipe the table at which Seamus sat.

"Dobby –" Seamus began, but at that moment, the tall figure of Blaise Zabini came through the door, and the tiny house elf quickly ran away. As the man paused to assess the room and its occupants, Seamus noted that he was still wearing the dress pants and white button-up that was part of his uniform, and that the clothes were crisp and clean in a way that Seamus' never would be this late at night. In fact, Seamus hated his uniform, feeling it to be restrictive, and wore his Muggle clothes as often as he could.

As Zabini came nearer, Seamus felt his hands grow clammy and his heart jump quicker, and he realized he was nervous. What if it was a trap? How could he have been so foolish? He didn't like feeling so uncertain, though he supposed he'd better get used to it.

He resolved to ignore the thoughts and took a deep breath as Zabini sat across from him, hands folding primly on the wooden table.

"Finnigan." His voice was low and gravelly, lower than Ron's, and his tone was calm. Seamus leaned back and crossed his arms, but not before placing in front of him the note, which had been scrunched up in his fist.

"That was a nice bit of magic," Seamus said, and he was surprised to hear his tone sounding much more confident than he felt. He hadn't known how he was going to open the conversation, but when the words tumbled out, he decided they were as good as anything.

"I know." Blaise's eyes stayed steadily on Seamus, not even flicking down to the piece of wrinkled parchment on the table.

"Alright, then. What do you want?" He'd purposely chosen to sit at the kitchen's equivalent of the Gryffindor table; he was determined to keep control of this _deal_ , as Zabini had called it, but already he felt his dominance slipping, and in so few words from the other man.

"Oh, it's not about what I want. It's about what you need."

Seamus raised an eyebrow. "Tell me then, what is it that I need?"

"Information, of course."

Blaise's look was piercing, and Seamus had to stop himself from squirming under the gaze. A pot fell somewhere behind him, clattering to the floor in sharp, metallic clangs, and he heard the scurrying of elven feet rush around.

"Why would I need information?" He was trying, somehow, to set the rules of the game, but this moment was reminding him of why the Sorting Hat had decided to place him in Gryffindor instead of Slytherin. He just wanted to get to the point, to understand everything, but something told him he had to dance along like a snake before he would.

Now it was Blaise's eyebrow that lifted, and he seemed almost amused, as if he knew something Seamus didn't. "Don't you?"

Seamus said nothing, mulling the idea over. Zabini would be an invaluable source of intelligence – he did, after all, live in a room with Malfoy, Crabbe, Goyle and Nott, who were all sons of Death Eaters, and he knew for a fact that Malfoy was one too. He weighed these thoughts against the risks, Neville's insistent concern echoing in his ears. And then, what would the others say when they found out? What if Zabini fed him the wrong information on purpose? What did he know about the DA, what did he know about Seamus?

The two men sat in silence for what felt like a long time, though Seamus' thoughts were swirling in his mind so rapidly, it could have just been seconds.

"Why should I trust you? You Imperiused Neville." His jaw clenched at the thought, and, out of the corner of his eye, he saw Dobby peeking out from behind a shelf, watching them carefully.

"And I promise it won't happen again. However, might I remind you, that if you accept this deal, and even if you don't, that I am also putting my trust in you?" These were more words than Blaise had spoken so far, but Seamus knew that they were carefully calculated. Despite the heat from the ovens, he felt cold.

"How do you figure that? The way I see it, you're holding all the power, here."

Blaise let out a sharp bark of laughter, but it was devoid of humour. "What do you think they would do to me if they found out I was working with the likes of you?"

Seamus considered this for a second, before tilting his head and slitting his eyes. There were going to be more questions asked than answered tonight, he knew this now with certainty.

"How did you know?" he asked.

"There are rumours." Blaise waved his hand around, as if to say that the rumours were floating around them. It made Seamus uneasy; they'd have to be more careful from now on.

"Then why me?"

A slow smile formed on the man's face; Seamus couldn't tell what its motivations were, but, like the man himself, it left him feeling like he had begun reading a book halfway through and was missing part of the story. His white teeth matched the smooth shirt, and it was a stunning contrast against his regal black skin.

"Like I said, rumours."

Seamus frowned. He didn't know which questions were being asked anymore, and he certainly didn't understand the answers.

"About?"

The smile got wider, and Seamus suppressed a shiver.

"You, Seamus Finnigan. Rumours about you."

For the first time since they began the conversation, Seamus knew exactly what Zabini meant, and to which rumours he was referring. He snorted.

"Didn't think a high and mighty Slytherin like you would be listening to gossip about little old me. What makes you think it's all true?" Blaise lifted his dark brows, his smile faltering, and Seamus thought he detected a hint of genuine surprise. It made him feel powerful, to take this polished and precise man off-guard. The man stayed silent, as if he knew he'd slipped, and didn't want to give anything else away. Seamus sighed. "Look, Zabini. You keep calling this a deal. I still don't see what you're getting out of it."

"Ah. I thought it was obvious." Black eyes darted down quickly at black hands before regaining control to hold Seamus' Irish green.

"Sex? That's what you want?" The normally lilting brogue was unexpectedly harsh as Seamus spat the words out.

"Oh, no." The all-too-knowing smile had returned, and Seamus suddenly understood how Blaise had just manipulated him into divulging information. "I'm simply hedging my bets. I'm placing one foot firmly on both sides, you see, all in the interest of self-preservation."

"So that means you're working with them, too."

"Well, Seamus Finnigan, I think that's a risk you're going to have to take." He stood abruptly, signalling the end of the conversation. "I'll send you another note if I have anything for you. Do not try to contact me. I expect you've already told that useless Longbottom about this, but no one else, understood?"

Seamus pushed himself up and held out his hand. Blaise shook it just once.

"Oh, and Finnigan?"

"Aye?"

Blaise tilted his head to the left, toward the shelf Dobby had been hiding behind. It was currently shaking loudly; Seamus resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

"Call off your elf. I think he's going to have an aneurism."

They heard a squeak from behind the rattling wood as Blaise Zabini turned and left without another look back.

It was only after, when he was making the long, winding journey back up to the seventh floor, hugging the walls and taking nearly-abandoned routes for safety, did Seamus realize that he had never even agreed to the deal at all.

He had eerie sense that he'd lost whatever game they'd been playing, and that Blaise had known the rules all along.


	3. Weight

Minerva McGonagall, for all her fearsome sternness, truly cared for her students, Seamus knew, and especially her Gryffindors. He saw it in the way her eyes sought them out one by one as she sat at the head of the Great Hall, as if counting them, every morning at breakfast. He saw it in the way her mouth tightened as she fixed them all when they walked into class, slitting if she saw bruises, but never giving anything away. He heard it in her tone when she warned them about curfew as she passed them in the corridors after dark. He felt it when she discreetly brushed her hand on his shoulder as he passed in his weekly homework, soft enough that he could be imagining it, but firm enough so he knew she remembered what was hidden in those pages.

It wasn't that she'd ever asked him to do it, to leave messages tucked into sentences about transfiguration theory, and she never even mentioned it, not even after the first time. In fact, she never spoke to him about anything other than class work, and he was sure she did so on purpose.

He couldn't even explain why it was that he'd decided to leave that first message – _we've decided to start meeting again –_ written in slightly different ink than the rest so she'd know it hadn't been an accident. But Seamus' instincts (which could, admittedly, be hit or miss, but which had become mostly hits as he grew older) told him that she'd want to know. In any case, she hadn't asked him to stop, or said anything at all, and the next week they'd heard on Potterwatch that an anonymous source had tipped Lee off that the DA had begun recruiting again. Seamus was sure, then, that his messages were getting to the Order, and so he continued. They were never long, only a few words, and he never had that much information to give anyway, but he did like feeling useful.

But really, Minerva McGonagall, in all her hidden kindness, was still fearsome and stern. Which was why, now, sitting in her office, Seamus was quite nervous.

"Professor, I swear I didn't mean to set the rock on fire. I don't even know how a rock can catch fire!" he hurriedly explained as she took her seat behind her desk.

Really, he hadn't meant to do it. In fact, he wasn't even sure he had done it. He'd been trying to transfigure a rock into a Pomeranian, but had set his wand down to crack his knuckles, when the rock in front of him had burst into flames. Parvati had winked at him from across the room – it was the second time in a week! Truthfully, he'd always had a hard time harnessing his magic, which seemed to have a pyromanic mind of its own, but this time he didn't even have his wand in his hand, and hadn't felt the sparky tingle of a spell gone wrong.

"Finnigan! You are a man now, and I expect you to be able to control your abilities much better. See me after class," Professor McGonagall had barked at him as he doused the flames with water from his wand.

So here he was: sitting in front of his professor, heart beating rapidly, the shuffling sounds of students gathering their things in the next room reaching his ears, a faint smell of singed robe tickling his nose.

"Honest, Professor. I hardly ever do it now!"

She raised her hand and he closed his mouth instantly. Raising her wand and pointing it at the door, she whispered something he hadn't been expecting at all.

" _Muffliato_."

Seamus recognized it as the spell Harry had spoken of last year, though he'd never heard anyone else use it, and he certainly hadn't himself. His eyes widened at McGonagall, confused.

"Professor?"

"So no one will hear our conversation. A precaution, Finnigan." She primly set her wand back on her desk and folded her hands together, observing him. "Now, if I am to understand correctly, you are quite proficient in Ancient Runes?"

She was mad. It had to be the only explanation.

"I…I thought this was about the fire."

She raised an eyebrow. "No, Finnigan. I set the fire. I had hoped you would be astute enough to notice."

He felt his mouth fall open and quickly closed it, sitting up straighter. There was something about his Head of House that made him want to keep a good posture.

"Why?"

"Why? Because I needed to speak with you, of course. Really, if you're going to keep being silly, I'm going to regret asking you here."

He didn't think he was being silly; he was just confused. He decided, very wisely, not to point that out.

"Uh… Ancient Runes, Professor?"

"Yes. Professor Babbling has told me that you excel in the subject."

Mad? No – she was absolutely bonkers. She wanted to speak with him about Ancient Runes, of all things? Granted, he was actually quite good at deciphering and working with runes, almost as good as Hermione. He enjoyed the feeling of solving a puzzle, the challenge of it. But why was McGonagall suddenly interested in this?

"And I seem to remember your desire to become a cursebreaker after Hogwarts. Is that still your ambition?" she continued without his answer, but this time she paused, letting him know she wanted one. He was amazed she even remembered, as their meeting to discuss his future career had been nearly two years ago.

"Well, yes, I do like Ancient Runes, and I know they use them a lot in cursebreaking, so I thought, well, yeah." He felt now like he'd felt in front of Blaise: painfully uneloquent and as if she knew something he didn't. He shrugged. "I haven't really thought about it in a while, what with the war and all."

"Yes, I understand." She nodded briskly, her mouth a thin line. She regarded him coolly, and he shifted under her gaze.

"Professor, I'm still confused as to why I'm here. Is this about the messages I've been leaving?"

"Yes and no, Finnigan. I must say, I was… surprised, when I read the first one," she said. Her non-answers were infuriating him, but he decided he had to remain calm and level, like he had the other night. He felt it was the only she would tell him why she wanted to speak with him.

"I know it was a risk, Professor."

"Quite a big risk, indeed."

He nodded, a wry smile forming on his lips. "Yes, well, who am I to call myself a Gryffindor if I'm afraid to take risks?"

She tilted her head just slightly to the left, and Seamus noticed for the first time just how _old_ she'd gotten since last year. He'd always known she was old, but now she really looked it; her cheeks were just a bit hollower than before, and a few more lines circled her steely eyes.

"That's what I'm counting on, Finnigan." She nodded once, quickly, and as if she'd just decided something important, opened a drawer in her desk and pulled out a thick stack of papers, bound by a metal ring in the top left corner. The front page was blank, but Seamus could see the faint outline of writing through it, though he couldn't read it.

"No, don't try to read it yet," she said. He looked up at her – her mouth had softened slightly, and she looked much less intimidating than she had before. "How good is your memory?"

God, was she ever going to speak to him plainly? He was become more bewildered by the second.

"Uh, all right, I guess," he said slowly. "I mean, I forget what I've had for lunch but I'm okay with… words, names, things like that."

"It's going to have to be better than _all right_. Now, listen to me carefully."

He frowned but sat up straighter, closer to the desk and the papers.

"I need you to read this. Not now, but some time this week. You are going to find a place where you won't be disturbed by anyone, understood? No one can know what you are reading, not even Longbottom and Weasley."

"What is it?" Seamus asked. The Scottish sun was shining for once, though it was cold out, and the rays shone on the portraits and instruments around the office, flashing against the frames, shining on the swirling dust. McGonagall's brooch was bright in the light.

"You will see. But I must warn you: everything that is written in here is spelled to disappear after it's read. You must memorize it – do not write anything down. This is of the utmost importance. Do you understand, Finnigan?"

"Read it alone. Don't write it down. Don't tell anyone. Memorize what it says. Got it. But… it looks like there's a lot written in there. How am I going to remember it all?" He gestured to the stack – it was at least half an inch thick, and if McGonagall was being so _cryptic_ about it, it probably wasn't one of Lavender's trashy romance novels.

She looked at him steadily, raising one precise eyebrow. "I trust you will find a way."

She unfolded her hands and pushed the documents toward her student, and he hastily grabbed it and stuffed it in his leather book bag. He felt the conversation was over, so he stood, swinging the bag over his shoulder – it felt heavier than it should, but maybe that was just the knowledge of what he was carrying in it.

 _More secrets. Just add them to the pile_ , he thought. McGonagall looked up at him and brought her fingers together in a peak under her chin.

"I expect you to be done by next week's class. You will come see me after. Good afternoon, Finnigan."

His stomach rumbled and he remembered that it was lunchtime, and that all his friends would be in the Great Hall already. He turned to leave, but hesitated. He felt he should say something, a thank you maybe, but he didn't quite know what. He could only imagine what kind of stress she was under, what with Snape being in charge and the Carrows being around, and the war, and the Order, and yet she somehow still kept a close eye on her students. He looked at her; she'd taken out some essays and was marking them with red ink.

"Professor?"

She looked up at him and set her quill down.

"Yes?"

"Uh… Take care of yourself, all right?"

He hadn't meant to say that at all – the words had fallen out and he was suddenly afraid that he'd stepped over an invisible line. She looked at him impassively and said nothing for a long, heavy beat.

Finally, she spoke. "Thank you, Finnigan. And… the same to you."

He nodded tightly and then dashed out of the office so quickly he whacked his elbow on the door's old stone jamb, but didn't stop, swearing quietly under his breath as the pain shot up through his arm to reach his fingers.

He made his way down to the Great Hall, shaking out his arm and hoping that there would still be some food left for him. His thoughts raced through his mind, his feet following the familiar route almost on their own, wondering what could possibly be written in the documents McGonagall had given him, what it all had to do with Ancient Runes, and what she wanted from him. That made two people with two different hidden agendas who had come to him for – for what, exactly? Help, in McGonagall's case? And Blaise – for an alibi, or insurance? For sex? Surely the man hadn't come to Seamus because he believed in what the Order was doing. There _were_ a few somewhat open-minded Slytherins, but Blaise had never been one of them. Really, from what Seamus remembered, Blaise kept mostly to himself, and was merely friendly with Malfoy and Parkinson and the rest. Or, maybe not friendly, Seamus suspected that _friendly_ wasn't quite the word, but at least civil.

He rushed along, head down, enveloped in his thoughts. He didn't notice the two students coming toward him until he hit into one of them, and it took him nearly a second to register who it was.

It seemed that these days, it wasn't only speaking of the devil that summoned him, but also thinking of him, because there was Blaise Zabini, an imperious sneer painted on his dark face, Pansy Parkinson beside him. Seamus knew he should apologize, but his mouth wasn't able to form the syllables, so he just stood, speechless.

"Excuse us! Who do you think you are? Do you want me to give him a detention, Blaise?" Pansy said, her voice a cloying shriek, her Head Girl badge glinting on her chest.

Blaise raised his hand, but didn't move his eyes from Seamus'.

"That won't be necessary. It's not his fault he's too stupid to look where he's going."

It had only been three days since he'd met Blaise in the kitchens, and he'd thought about their conversation almost incessantly, but Seamus had already forgotten how cold that voice made him feel.

Pansy cackled and flipped her hair back as she raised her chin arrogantly. "Watch yourself, Finnigan. Next time we won't be so kind," she spat at him before pushing past and strutting away. Blaise followed her without another word as Seamus stared dumbly at their figures disappearing around a corner.

"Seamus!" he heard someone say from behind him, and he shook himself out of his stupor. He turned to see who it was – it was Anthony Goldstein, jogging to him, cloak swaying. "What did they want? Fucking Slytherins," he said as he got closer.

Seamus shook his head. "Nothing, I just bumped into them." Anthony skidded into a stop beside him. "You going to lunch?"

"Yeah, I'll walk with you. Parkinson's a prefect, Shay, and Zabini lives with Malfoy. You oughta be more careful." They began walking in direction of the Great Hall, and Seamus started to smell something savoury wafting toward him.

"I know, I know." He shrugged.

"You all right, mate?" Anthony looked at him questioningly. "You look a little peaky."

"I'm fine. Just tired. Haven't been getting much sleep lately, you know how it is," Seamus said. He held his bag closer to his side when they passed students.

"You could ask Michael to brew you some Dreamless Sleep once we've got that lab up and running," Anthony said, trying to whisper but not quite managing it with his perpetually booming voice. Seamus looked around, eyes wide, but they were alone in the corridor, aside from the portraits.

"Jesus, Tony, don't talk about that in public. Besides, that shit's illegal to possess without a prescription."

Anthony rolled his eyes. "Technically, nothing we're doing is strictly legal. But you could always go see Pomfrey, she'd give you some."

"I'm fine, I'm sure it's just stress. It'll pass. Hey, you listen to the Kestrals game last night?" Seamus said, quickly changing the subject, and Anthony launched happily into a recount of the best and worst plays of the game, which had been broadcasted on the wireless. By the time they'd reached the Great Hall, Seamus' smile was genuine, and though he only had a few minutes to eat before he had to go to Ancient Runes, he almost forgot about the bundle of pages tucked into his bag and what they could possibly contain.


	4. Dirt

This chapter was a lot of fun to write. Don't forget to leave a review!

Chapter contents: alcohol, mentions of sex, also a Carrow is mean

XO, Karo

* * *

The heavy awareness that came with carrying a secret in a worn, old bag around a crowded school returned quickly after lunch, and Seamus knew his nerves would not be assuaged anytime soon as he entered the dreary Muggle Studies classroom. Dread spread over his body like a cold, unpleasant wave as he chose a seat between Neville and Lavender at the back of the class, where all the Gryffindors retreated on Wednesdays and Fridays, leaving the front of the room to the Slytherins. Of course they'd been placed with them – the injury that was mandatory Muggle Studies classes taught by the vile Alecto Carrow would not be complete without the insult of straight-backed Slytherin students with unsurprising enthusiasm and perfect sneers painted on their faces.

The class was not so much a class as a platform for Alecto Carrow, whose greasy hair gave Snape's a run for its unwashed money, to rant about Muggles and their apparently boundless stupidity. She occasionally gave the floor to students – Parkinson particularly delighted in listing all the ways in which Muggle fashions were atrociously lacking, while Crabbe and Goyle took turns speaking in short bursts of insults that sounded more often than not like grunts.

The five seventh-year Gryffindors that were still at Hogwarts generally stayed quiet throughout the awful spectacle, having quickly learned that anything they did or said would merit them instant detentions. This was an especially difficult task for Seamus, who was the only one among them who was not a pureblood, and who was, of course, renowned for his quick tongue and rapidly-blazing temper. He'd also become his professor's favourite target. Seamus was not the only one in the class who was a half-blood – it was well-known that Tracey Davis' mother was muggle-born – but Alecto had decided early on that Seamus was to become the bullseye at which she would throw many of her anti-Muggle darts. More often than not, he held Lavender's hand tightly throughout the classes, squeezing when Carrow said something particularly denigrating, leaving red half-moon crescents stamped into her palm from his fingernails. Still, he mostly kept his mouth shut, after having earned three detentions in a row the first month.

And anyway, today was Friday, and Seamus had no energy to even focus on what the woman standing at the front of the room was saying, much less think of responding to the insults that were surely coming his way.

The fact that it was Friday, however, did nothing to dampen Alecto's spirit, and she started right into an expletive-filled lecture about Muggles' animalistic tendencies as soon as the students had sat, not even bothering with such formalities as greetings. Seamus looked to his right at Lavender, who was doodling on her parchment instead of taking notes. He reached over quietly and scribbled out a message on her sheet, careful not to make any sudden movements that would stun Alecto out of her rant.

 _I've got some Firewhisky stashed away. Drinks tonight?_

He figured the slow burn of alcohol would settle his mind – it had been a strange week. Lavender smiled at him as she wrote out a reply.

 _Merlin, yes. Just me and you?_

Her handwriting, unlike Seamus', was neat and rounded. His was sharp, thin lines, and frankly, quite difficult to decipher most of the time, but Lavender had years of experience.

 _Neville too, I guess_ , he scrawled. A quick look up confirmed that Alecto hadn't noticed anything, as she was in the middle of an impassioned rant on Muggle hygiene. Lavender looked up too, smirking, before scratching out another message.

 _Bit thick coming from her_ , _don't you think?_

Seamus bit his tongue so as not to laugh, but the chuckle died in his throat as quickly as it has risen when he realized someone other than Alector was speaking, and that that someone was Neville.

"—one to talk!" Seamus heard Neville spit. Alecto stopped, mid-sentence, her mouth wide. The Slytherins in front turned slowly, disbelief painting their faces. Seamus hit Neville's thigh under the desk and he heard Parvati hiss a warning at the desk beside them.

Alecto's mouth turned into a toothy smile as she strode purposefully toward the back of the room. Seamus quickly flipped over the parchment he and Lavender had been writing on, and she squeezed his hand so hard he suspected it was turning white.

"What's that, Longbottom?" Alecto said, and the serenity with which she said it made Seamus shiver. "Care to repeat that for the rest of the class?"

"I said," Neville called out, louder than necessary, as he stood slowly, and if the situation had been different, Seamus would have marvelled at the man's calmness and courage, "that you're one to talk about bad hygiene. It makes me wonder – how much Muggle blood have you and your brother got?"

Lavender and Parkinson both gasped in harmony. Seamus noticed that Zabini, sitting next to a gaunt-faced Malfory, hadn't turned around to stare like the others, but had stayed facing front, shoulders and back straight and sturdy.

Alecto whipped out her wand and pointed it at Neville, who had crossed his arms defiantly and lifted his chin. The smile had left her face and her jaw hardened, but Neville didn't so much as flinch when her short, stubby wand touched his chest.

"You'll pay for that, you filthy fucking blood traitor." She whispered something Seamus couldn't hear and suddenly Neville flew backwards, slamming into the rough stone wall, narrowly avoiding hitting his head. He scrambled up instantly, seeming unfazed by the attack, and Lavender whimpered.

"I thought we'd covered this," Neville said. Of all the chances Neville had had over the years to develop his courage and disdain for authority, why he chose these ones, Seamus never understood. "You're the filthy one."

" _Silencio!_ " Alecto cried, and Neville didn't so much as blink. "I'll see you tomorrow afternoon in my office. Say, three. Don't even think about skipping out on me, if you know what's good for you. I've got something special planned."

He slowly took his seat again, not once turning his gaze from the Death Eater's oily face, and when she finally strode back to the front of the class, Seamus banged his fist on Neville's leg. He didn't dare say a word, but he wanted to ask Neville if he had gone mad. Parvati was shaking her head at the other desk while Fay just stared straight ahead, eyes impossibly wide. Lavender was still shaking – she squeezed Seamus' hand. Neville's face remained impassive throughout the rest of the class, which was thankfully over quickly enough, and took his grand time packing up his things while the other Gryffindors darted out into the corridor as soon as they could.

The girls huddled around Seamus as they made their way back to the Gryffindor Common Room, Parvati squeezing Fay's shoulder as she fell away to go to her Magical Creatures class, which Neville had presumably gone to too. They stayed silent for a few minutes, and Seamus was glad for it, as he didn't quite know how to react to Neville's outburst.

"What do you think they'll do to him?" Lavender said as they approached their corridor and they were alone.

"Something special, whatever that is," Parvati said, her voice low. She hitched her bag higher on her shoulder and Seamus suddenly remembered what was in his bag – he'd almost forgotten.

Lavender shivered as they walked through a draught.

An image, unbidden, came to Seamus' mind as he said it, of little pudgy Neville Longbottom in striped pyjamas, all dimpled cheeks and shuddering breaths, clutching Trevor tightly and stuttering in the Common Room, trying to explain to Professor McGonagall how the toad had found its way into her quarters overnight. Then another: 15-yr-old Neville, hiccoughing spiced mead on the floor of their dormitory, having been goaded by Fred and George and Seamus to take one drink too many, teary-eyed as he told them all about his love for cacti and venus flytraps, as Dean whacked Ron on the back of the head for laughing. Then again, but this time broad-shouldered and hard-faced, Kedavra eyes boring holes into the oafish Muggle Studies professor, tongue sharp, voice strong and clear.

"Neville's tough," Seamus said.

"Well, he's going to have to be tough," and Lavender too, had changed, when she'd realized that her tragic romance novels were nothing at all like the real thing, and that what she was living was much more painful tragedy than it ever would be romance. Still, she determinedly transfigured every quill she got pink, and wore bows in her braids, and cooed over kittens, and sucked on lollies that stained her mouth purple, while her mind whirled with strategic curses and her wand tingled with healing magic.

They reached the portrait, Parvati giving the password – _puffskein_ – and the Fat Lady nodded at them, letting it swing open.

"God," Lavender said, throwing her bag onto an armchair in the empty Common room and plopping herself down on another, "I need a drink."

::

As it was only three o'clock, Lavender dutifully waited for the promised drink by starting on a Potions essay while Seamus defeated Parvati soundly at chess.

"A-ha! Check and mate," he said. The white king bowed its head and dropped its tiny sword in surrender, and Parvati shrugged.

"You should play against Padma sometime," Parvati said, rising and fixing her tie, waiting for the others to be ready to go down to supper.

"I've played against Ron. I already know what losing feels like, thank you," Seamus said as he tucked away his battered old pieces into their battered old box. "It's kept me humble all these years."

"Seamus, you are many things—"

"Smart, handsome, hilarious, charming, dead sexy, bloody excellent at chess…"

"—but humble is not one of them," Lavender finished loudly over his litany as Parvati laughed, a tumbling peal of ringing giggles.

They did not see Neville again until night had fallen and Parvati had padded off to Ravenclaw Tower with the interim Chess Mistress of Hogwarts. He finally trudged in, dirt staining his clothes in just the way Seamus expected it would, a leaf stuck firmly in his hair. Lavender was sitting cross-legged on Seamus' bed with him, two full pints of Old Ogden's laying in the cavity her pyjama-clad limbs made.

"Well, look what the Kneazle dragged in," Seamus drawled, conjuring three glasses and sticking out his hand for a bottle. Lavender passed him one and sat back, leaning on her hands.

"Hullo to you too," Neville said stiffly, shedding his dirty robes and pulling off his button-up before sitting on Seamus' bed lightly in his vest and trousers. He took the first glass Seamus poured and took one searing gulp.

"Neville, you'd tell us if you'd gone mad, right?" Lavender asked, her tone light but her shoulders tense. His smile did not quite reach his dimples.

"If I was truly mad, then I wouldn't know it."

"Well then," Seamus said, passing another glass to Lavender, "you'll tell us when you're no longer bonkers, that way we'll know when to have you committed." He poured himself a final portion and twisted the cap back onto the bottle, inhaling the bracing smell of cinnamon and alcohol.

"Really Neville, what got into you?"

He shrugged, the picture of nonchalance and disaffectedness. "Didn't really have the patience for her today."

"Christ, Neville, you make the patience, or you get yourself killed." Seamus was struggling to keep the sharpness from edging into his voice, and tried to replace it with concern, but instead the words came out strangled and his voice cracked.

Lavender snorted. "Balls not dropped yet, Finnigan?"

"Ach, go 'way with you. I'm serious." He sneered at her, but it was without malice. She stuck her tongue out.

"So am I," Neville said. "I'm tired of this shit. I'm tired of doing nothing against them."

"We're doing plenty," Lavender said, sipping from her drink and grimacing as it burned down her throat. "We've got meetings, and a garden."

"But all that's for us. We're not doing anything – shove over, Shay – to fight them."

Seamus shifted so Neville could haul his legs up on the bed. "There's nothing we can do to _fight_ them, Nev. In case you hadn't noticed, we're in a war, and from what it looks like here, our side is losing. Best to keep our heads down, innit?"

Maybe Seamus had changed as much as Neville and Lavender, then, because that was a sentence he would never have dreamed in his wildest nightmare of saying just a few months ago. But then again, this _was_ a war, or something like it at least, and it was being fought in draughty astronomy towers and London townhouses and school classrooms and Ministry offices.

Neville peered at him over his glass as he paused from raising it to his lips. "Cauldron and kettle, mate."

"I'm not – Jesus, Neville, just don't go around provoking them like that again."

"Enough," Lavender said, and they both turned to look at her. "Let's not fight about this tonight, please. There are more pressing matters."

"More pressing than war?" Seamus asked, raising one eyebrow coolly.

"Well, for starters, what are you going to do about Hannah, Nev?"

Neville spluttered, and just like that, the tension was lifted from the shoulders and was replaced by a different kind of awkwardness, creeping red on Neville's cheeks. Seamus couldn't help but laugh.

"Hannah? What about Hannah?" Neville quickly gulped down the rest of his drink but miscalculated how much was left, if his sudden coughing fit was any indication. "Christ, that burns," he said as Seamus thumped him on the back, still chucking.

"Oh, come on, I know you're not as daft as you look!" Lavender cried.

"Not saying much though, is it?" Seamus said, winking and Neville slapped him on the back of the head.

"Oi, watch it, Fire Boy," Neville said. His face was positively scarlet.

"Missed opportunity. Could have gone with Flamer, " Seamus quipped easily even if the title wasn't exactly deserved, unscrewing the bottle of whisky and pouring himself some more. Lavender giggled.

"She _likes_ you, Nev," Lavender said passionately, throwing an arm out. The man ducked his head to stare at the swirling amber liquid in his glass.

"She does not," he mumbled. "And anyway, plenty of people like me. My grandmother likes me. Seamus likes me."

"Doesn't mean I want to suck your cock and have your children," Seamus said, and his vulgarity was rewarded when Neville shuddered and squeezed his eyes tightly shut. "Unless you're offering," Seamus added and Neville shook his head quickly.

Lavender, the damn lightweight, was probably already feeling tipsy, or else she would have slapped him for that. Instead she just laughed some more. Sex was Seamus' favourite topic of conversation, tied with Quidditch and just above Dean Thomas and salmon fishing. In his foolish youth, he'd prided himself on being the first of the boys of their year to have had it, and now he prided himself on being good at it.

Seamus had been the first, thanks to an awkward, fumbling tryst with a Muggle girl passing through his town the summer before sixth year, then Dean (which had irritated Harry immensely at the time), then Ron (as confirmed by Lavender), then Harry (which had, in turn, annoyed Dean). Neville, though, had yet to reach that particular milestone of adulthood, and Seamus quite believed it _was_ for lack of trying. He delighted in taking the piss out of Neville for it, who, depending on the day, would throw it right back in Seamus' insolent face or whose youthful stutter reappeared with all the grace of a man uncomfortable in his sexuality.

"Here's a question, Seamus," Neville said, too loud for their close proximity, "how does it feel to be, you know, sodomized?"

Lavender cackled.

"Sodomized? Who even talks like that anymore? You need to be lobotomized," Seamus said, rolling his eyes. He too was starting to feel the liquor's effects. "Besides, how do you know I'm the one being sodomized?"

Neville reddened some more, looking stricken, and Seamus thought the boy might burst.

"Oh hush, I know you are," Lavender said.

"That's the last time I give _you_ the gory details of my sex life."

"Please, ever since Finch-Fletchley fucked off, you don't have a sex life."

Seamus gasped at her. "Language, please Miss Brown! Neville, put your fingers in your ears, there's a dear."

The dear in question rolled his eyes and raised his middle finger at them both.

"Besides, he didn't _fuck off_ , as you so eloquently put, he went into hiding. War, and all that."

"Semantics! Here's a better question then," Lavender said, "how do two blokes decide who does what?"

Seamus laughed. "Like, who tops and who bottoms?"

"Yes, good question. The logistics do seem complicated, don't you think?"

"Do you all collectively forget that I'm not gay, and that I enjoy sex with women too?"

"Well, we already know how that works so it's not as interesting than the sex with boys part. We've got less intel on that," Lavender said, waving her hand as if to say that the answer was obvious. Seamus sighed, but the alcohol stopped him from feeling properly irritated.

"I don't know. You just know. Or you ask."

"Like I said, complicated," Neville said, nodding knowingly.

"Hey! You changed the subject! We were talking about Hannah!" Seamus poked Neville squarely in the chest, his drink sloshing around in his glass.

"She _does not_ like me!"

They talked late into the night, the whisky bottles slowly emptying into their stomachs, their minds getting foggier and their language stilted. Lavender nestled herself in Seamus' bed with him when the liquor was gone and Neville's head drooped dangerously low. It was nice, Seamus thought, to have someone else in bed with him, even if it was only Lavender, and it was nicer still to forget for a night what lay beyond the comforting, familiar walls of Gryffindor Tower. He knew it wouldn't last – it never did – but it felt good to pretend that this was normal, that _they_ were normal, and that they were not child soldiers in an invisible war. A sharp pang of guilt sliced through Seamus suddenly as he settled in next to Lavender; he thought of Dean, who was Schrodinger's Wizard, and who could be either alive or dead depending on the state of Seamus' hope and confidence at any given moment, and who was probably shivering somewhere deep in a forest, hungry and far away from Hogwarts.

He pushed the thought away quickly. It did no good to think like that, and he certainly wouldn't get any sleep if he did.

The alcohol pressed down on his eyelids and soon he too was halfway to sleeping, the slow rise and fall of Neville's breathing and Lavender's compact warmth lulling him into security. Yes. Pretending was good.


	5. Red

The air tasted like rain and felt like thunder as they waited for Neville to return from his session. They'd been waiting hours for him, he and Ginny and Lavender, sweating whisky and stomachs unable to hold down any food (which could have been due to the hangover or the nerves, or possibly an unpleasant combination of the two). In an attempt to distract themselves, they'd sent a first-year to get Hannah and Anthony after supper in exchange for a sickle, for they were unwilling to leave the tower, and then a group of them had occupied themselves with unenthusiastic chess, letter-writing and essays.

They sat now, close to the empty hearth (it was much too humid for a fire today), away from the others that occupied the room, chatting in soft voices. Seamus had taken out the few sketchbooks that Dean had left him, and the others left him alone to look through them for what they all knew was for at least the hundredth time. The drawings were painfully familiar by now, and he had to continually remind himself not to keep touching his favourites, because the charcoal was smudging and fading in some places. He knew he shouldn't keep looking, but at least he wasn't biting his nails like Parvati was doing, and it stopped him from jumping up and pacing every so often like Hannah did.

Seamus was sitting on the floor, shoulders tucked between Lavender's knees, who was on an armchair running her hands through his hair while he flipped through the pages.

"They wouldn't kill him, would they?" Hannah asked. She was going through one of her fits of anxious energy, having jumped up to go round and round in a circle, wringing her hands.

"I don't think even they're that stupid," Anthony said, which Seamus didn't think was a comfort at all. Neither did Hannah, judging by the look she shot him. "His grandmother would destroy them," he added.

"And so would McGonagall," Ginny said. She looked up from the floor where she was writing her an essay on the effects of dandelion roots in calming draughts.

"Not to mention Sprout." Parvati smiled soothingly at Hannah from her perch on the loveseat, knees drawn up to her chest, a magazine balanced on the armrest. "Or us."

"Neville's got an army of women looking out for him," Seamus said, "and they're terrifying, the lot of them."

Lavender pulled her fingers out of Seamus' hair briefly to tap him on the head. "Watch who you're calling terrifying, you tosser."

"It's a compliment," Seamus said, and Anthony nodded.

Ginny carefully set her parchment and quill aside and rolled on her back. "I'll take it," she said. "Hannah, please stop, you're making me nervous."

Hannah threw her hands up in the air. "He's been gone for four hours! You should be nervous!"

Seamus chose to say nothing, unable to think of anything that would help, and was just opening another sketchbook when he thought he heard a slight coughing noise behind him.

"Stay away from me if you're getting sick, Lav," he said, opening the book to the first page; an image of Ron, sprawled on a plush armchair and obviously asleep, his mouth open in a snore, a textbook laying on his stomach.

"Huh?" she said. "I'm not."

Seamus turned to look at her as he heard another cough, but his eye caught movement on the wall behind her chair – a child, well, a painting of a child, was waving at him. He'd never seen this portrait before, and he'd spent enough time in the Gryffindor common room to know its permanent residents rather well, so the girl must have travelled from elsewhere in the castle.

He stood abruptly, sketchbooks falling in a rustle to the floor, and turned to face the painting.

"Seamus, what are you looking at?" Anthony asked him, and Seamus didn't quite know what to answer. The little girl was gone, though he thought maybe he saw a peek of her orange hair hiding behind an impressionist bowl of fruit, though that could have just been a persimmon.

"I thought I saw—"

"Oh!" Hannah cried sharply, because there was Neville, stumbling in like the undead, blood dripping down his nose and chin and left eye swollen shut. His shirt was torn and red was seeping through at an alarming rate. A first-year who had been trying to make his way out screeched at the sight of him and darted past, eyes wide. Seamus pushed chairs aside to get to Neville, but Hannah reached him first, and he quite literally fell into her arms. She stumbled, unable to support his weight, but Seamus caught her, though his hands, for all their calluses and their sea-hewn strength, were trembling. He shifted to he could put his arm around Neville's waist and Hannah stepped away, hovering nervously.

"Fucking Christ," Anthony said, rushing to help Seamus.

A few students had scampered up into the dormitory, and the other little ones stayed quiet, watching Neville's head loll onto his chest like a ragdoll, listening to his harsh, short breaths. Parvati jumped away from her spot and the men all but carried Neville to the couch, where he collapsed in a hiss of pain.

"Give me space, please," Lavender said, and they all backed away from him. "Neville, look at me. Keep your eyes open, please."

"They're too swollen," Hannah said anxiously, having resumed her pacing.

"Neville? Christ. Look at me. _Episkey_."

He moaned as his nose cracked into place.

"We need to bring him to Pomfrey," Anthony said, but Ginny shot him a sharp look.

"You know as well as I do they won't let her do anything for him. Let Lavender do her work."

" _Tergeo_ ," Lavender murmured, and much of the blood disappeared, but she seemed unsatisfied. " _Aguamenti._ " Instead of the usual rush of water Seamus was accustomed to producing, there was a thin, precise, gentle stream of water falling from her wand onto Neville's face.

"Towels. Get me towels." Parvati ran to do as her friend bid, and Hannah squeaked. The water was washing away most of the blood, though some of it was dried and caked and would need to be scrubbed. It seemed, at least from where Seamus was standing, that the water was still not running clear, and quickly discovered it was because of a long gash on Neville's chin, red and puffy and shining and bleeding.

"Someone get his shirt off," Lavender said through gritted teeth. Anthony bent to started unbuttoning it, but Lavender said " _Now!_ " and he abandoned the buttons in favour of ripping it open.

More cuts revealed themselves, long and deep, and Seamus found himself thinking how fucking lucky it was that they didn't reach his neck, which was an awful thing to feel lucky about, really. As it was, his torso had four long stripes of scarlet, and underneath all the blood, Neville's body was pale, clammy and shaking. She worked carefully, aiming her wand at the cuts and when he hissed, the stream of water thinned until it was little more than a trickle, pushing away the stained shirt with her other hand.

Parvati came running back down with towels, three of them, and a fluffy fleece blanket thrown over her shoulder. She wordlessly handed the towels to Lavender, whose wand stopped trickling liquid and who quickly transfigured the towels to gauze and cotton pads, setting the supplies down beside where she was kneeling by Neville. His breathing was shallow and when he moaned softly Hannah gripped Seamus' hand. Parvati grabbed her other.

"Ginny, Tony, I'm going to need you to hold him still for this," Lavender said and they were at Neville's side in an instant, Anthony holding his shoulders and Ginny his legs.

Lavender took a deep, steady breath before pointing her wand at his chest wounds, and his purple, swollen eyes fell shut when a string of thread appeared and began stitching the first gash together. His body reacted with his face and his arms shot up, but Ginny and Anthony held him fast. He struggled against their hold as the thread went in and out of his skin slowly, painfully, crying out. Lavender's face betrayed no emotion until his torso was criss-crossed with black lines, and then all she did was breathe out and squeeze Neville's hand. Ginny and Anthony stepped away.

"Don't forget to breathe, Nev, just breathe," she said, grabbing the gauze and tearing it into long strips to dress the wounds. She hadn't yet touched the cut on his chin, and though the blood had slowed and was coagulating, it was still open.

They watched her work in silence as she wrapped the materials around his chest, her wand once again spraying water to wash away the remaining blood.

"His chin?" Hannah asked anxiously, Parvati rubbing her back.

"I can't stitch it, the Carrows will notice," she murmured, pulling up Neville's dead weight to circle his chest with gauze. "And it looks Muggle."

"It _is_ Muggle," Ginny said, "they used stitches on my dad when he got bit by You-Know-Who's snake."

"Yes, well," Lavender said, tucking the last bit of material in her chest and wiping her forehead, "Pomfrey's been developing this since then. It's not exactly, uh, legal, quite yet. Strictly speaking. Don't tell anyone, you lot."

She delicately touched Neville's chin and turned it toward her so she could examine it closer, and he offered her a weak smile.

"You're an angel," he said, his voice hoarse like he'd been screaming.

"And you're quite a sight. This is all going to scar." Her wand, which looked like an extension of her arm now, tapped his chin as she whispered some latin, and the skin got thicker, but didn't not completely close over the slice.

"It'll be very sexy," Seamus said, and Neville huffed, a sound that was probably supposed to be laughter. Rain began to fall against the windows and Parvati brought over the blanket to cover Neville's shoulders.

"Someone help me up?" Neville asked, and Anthony stepped forward to help. "Fuck." He winced when the stitches stretched as he moved.

"Some hangover, right?" Seamus asked, and Hannah hit him lightly.

"If I had some dittany…" Lavender started, but faded off, thinking.

"We'll grow some," Ginny said, "won't we, Nev?"

He nodded.

"It's not enough," Anthony said abruptly. "We need to be doing more."

Ginny looked at him sharply. "What more could we possibly be doing?"

"If anything, we should be doing less. Being less visible. Staying out of trouble," Hannah added. She stepped forward to sit on the edge of the sofa Neville was resting on, and she put her hand on his shoulder, her thumb rubbing soft circles on the exposed skin. His blush was stark against his sickly pale skin, and Seamus winked at him.

"I never said anything about getting into trouble," Anthony retorted. "But we need a strategy. If it comes to a fight—"

" _When_ ," Neville said. He reached up to clasp Hannah's hand.

"When it comes to a fight, we need to be ready."

Seamus caught movement out of the corner of his eye but dismissed it when he saw Fay coming down the stairs, books in hand. Neville pulled the blanket tighter on his shoulders and they stood in uncomfortable silence until the girl had walked through the room and out the door.

"We're already learning spells!" Ginny said, once it was safe.

"He's right. We're learning them, but it's not enough. Before, with Harry, it was all theoretical. We were just learning what Umbridge wasn't teaching us," Neville said, readjusting his position to find something more comfortable. He leaned his head gingerly on Hannah's thigh.

"It wasn't theoretical when we were facing Death Eaters in the Department of Mysteries and at the end of last year." Ginny's voice was tight, but Seamus was beginning to understand the other boys' point of view.

Anthony shook his head. "No, but there's so many more of us now. All I'm saying is that we need to be diversifying our tactics. We need to play our strengths." He gestured toward Lavender, who had Neville's blood smeared across her shirt and jeans, her arms crossed, wand held tightly in hand. "Our individual strengths, like Lavender, and Neville and his garden, or Michael with potions."

"Then what do you suggest?" Parvati asked. She had never looked so old.

"Well, just thinking out loud, but we've got flyers—Ginny, Ritchie, Ernie—so let's get them to start practicing spellwork on brooms, and spells that work better from the air than the ground."

"That's… that's an idea," Ginny said, though she sounded uncertain.

"Come on, Gin, since when are you so reluctant to take risks?" Neville asked. He seemed genuinely confused.

"Christ, since I've got too much to lose. My family's already under the Fidelius, Harry and Ron are off Godric knows where… And anyway, since when are you so impulsive?"

"We're not going to be impulsive," Anthony said before Neville could answer, "we're going to strategize. I've got more ideas too – we just have to find ways to be creative."

"Tony—" Hannah started, but he cut her off too.

"Look, we're already playing their game. They're the ones setting the rules, and there's no ref to call their fouls."

"I think you're right," Seamus said slowly. "Right now, the game is rigged to let them win, so we've got to play dirty."

"No, we've got to play _smart_ ," Anthony said, "and if that means throwing a few tricks their way, then so be it."

"All right. All right. Come up with a plan," said Ginny, an air of resignation on her freckled face. "But we'll be cautious. Look what happened when Neville tried to get creative."

Seamus snorted. "That wasn't creative, that was stupid."

Neville shrugged, not seeming too offended. It was silent for a few moments but for the rain as they thought over the proposition. A clock ticked somewhere.

"Lav, you must be exhausted. Why don't you go shower while I clean up here?" Parvati said gently. "You too, Nev. Go up."

"Don't think I can beg a sponge bath from one of you, eh?" Hannah helped him stand up, her tiny frame leaning with his weight.

"Just say the word, handsome," Seamus said.

"Not you!"

Hannah rolled her eyes. "Come on then, General Longbottom, I'll help you up the stairs."

"Nev, you'll give your report to Seamus tonight?" Ginny said, stifling a yawn even though it was barely past nine.

"Don't rush him!" Hannah said and pulled Neville away before he could answer. He didn't even protest as he limped away.

They were soon gone, Lavender trailing not far behind, arms out as if to catch Neville if he fell, Seamus waggling his eyebrows at their backs.

"So that's a thing then," Anthony, in the manner of someone who'd looked up a fact in a reference book and was stating it with certainty. "I'd better be off before curfew. See you around!" He clapped Seamus on the back, ruffled Ginny's hair and kissed Parvati on the cheek, and he was off into the castle too.

Lightning flashed violently somewhere near the castle – Seamus counted one, two, three, before the thunder crashed. Rain was still lashing against the windows with fury. The humidity was heavy, and his cotton shirt clung to his skin.

Soon, Parvati had cleaned away all the blood and water from the floor and sofa and she and Ginny padded away together, speaking softly. Seamus thought that the idea of curling into bed right now seemed wonderful – he always slept well when it was raging outside, which probably had something to do with the fact that he'd grown up on a cliff near the waves – and made his way to the stairs too, stopping to pick up the sketchbooks he'd left by the hearth.

"Hey!" someone hissed from behind him, and he stood instantly, turning toward the noise. He looked around uncertainly – there was no one in the common room but him, so maybe it had just been his imagination.

"Over here, you daft lump!"

Well, _that_ couldn't be his imagination. He remembered the girl in the portrait from earlier, so he strode over to the wall and looked closely at the bowl of fruit she had hid behind. There she was, lounging on a banana comfortably, munching on a blueberry the size of her head. She was wearing a long green belted gown with bell-shaped sleeves hanging down nearly to her knees, and a brown cape on her shoulders. Her hair was as vivid orange as Seamus remembered; it really clashed horribly against the banana, a huge mane of tight curls.

"I've been trying to get your attention all afternoon," she said, dropping her berry and hopping up from the banana to lean on the frame of the painting. Seamus noted her familiar accent, though it was different than his, closer to that of the oldest residents of his village, and maybe a touch more northern.

"Who are you?" he said slowly, peering at her closely. She seemed very young, at most fourteen. She had more freckles than a Weasley.

"Mor Sadb Uí Néill from Ailech of the _Cenél nEógain_ dynasty, but you can call me Mo."

"Well, I'm Seamus John Finnigan from Howth, of no dynasty whatsoever, and you can call me Seamus. Or Shay. Whatever."

"Well, I'd shake your hand, but I can't, so I won't." She smoothed her gown down with her tiny painted fingers.

"Not to be rude or anything, but what do you want?"

"That _is_ rude."

He raised an eyebrow at her, crossing his arms. "You're a bit feisty for a painting, you know."

"Exactly. I'm a painting. What else have I got? Well, aside from a message for you."

He stepped closer. "A message? From who?"

"From _whom_ , Seamus, from _whom_." She jumped up onto the banana again and walked across it like a tightrope, her arms spread out for balance, not even looking up at him as she corrected his grammar. "You know, I never really understood the whole 'bowls of fruit' thing. Did you know there are thirty-eight pieces like this one across the castle? They're all dreadfully boring. This one doesn't even have peaches. I love peaches." She jumped onto an orange, balancing herself first on one foot, then the other.

"How old are you?" Seamus asked.

"Oh, seven hundred and thirteen, give or take a few years. And I still haven't hit puberty."

"Reckon you never will."

She sighed deeply. "No, and it's the greatest tragedy of my life. Aside from being burned at the stake by a bunch of idiot Muggles, you know how it is."

"Oh aye, my favourite hobby. What's the message?" He tapped his fingers against his arm and she sighed again.

"Hmph. You're _no_ fun. It's from Blaise Zabini. Know the lad? Tall, dark and handsome, upper lip stiff as a board?"

Seamus nodded. She jumped up and down on a persimmon for a second, as if to test its bounciness but seeming unsatisfied, she lept onto the banana again, this time using it to slide gracefully down to the table, her cape flowing behind her.

"He says to meet him tomorrow night, same time, same place. Said you'd know what he meant. I don't even _like_ bananas." She wrinkled her brush-stroked nose.

Information. That meant Zabini had information. Seamus had barely time to wonder what it was until Mo was speaking again.

"You aren't going to say thank you? I've gone to great lengths to deliver this message to you. Sir Cadogan challenged me to a jousting match and wouldn't let me leave until I did it! Thank goodness I'm already two-dimensional, else I would have been positively _flattened_."

"Uh, thanks. Really. And it was, well, nice meeting you, but I'm going to go to bed now." He nodded at her, feeling incredibly awkward, but she waved at him away with the regal air of someone much older than she. Well, older than she would be if she was real, and not made of paint and canvas.

"Go on. Don't pay any attention to little old me. I'll just be off then," she said. Feisty _and_ dramatic.

"Right then. Uh, goodnight."

He fled upstairs, where he found Neville in his favourite pyjamas tucked into a still fully-dressed Hannah's arms, both sleeping peacefully. He didn't want to wake them, figuring Neville needed the rest, so he padded softly across the room in the dark, knowing almost instinctively where to put his feet after over six years.

He suddenly felt the impact of something hard against his tow, and he had to bite down on his hand to stop himself from yelling obscenities. He cast a dim _Lumos_ to find the source of his pain, so he would know what to blame. It was his book bag, and, having opened when he hit into it, some things had spilled onto the floor. Among them was the stack of pages McGonagall had given him yesterday, glaring at him.

 _Well_ , he thought, _no time like the present_.


	6. Breath

This is shorter than most of the other chapters, sorry about that. Also, I've been watching a lot of X-Files recently sooo, subtle nod to Mr. X.

-Karo

* * *

This was certainly… unexpected.

After his decision to begin reading the document, Seamus had quickly stripped down to his pants and tucked himself into bed, pulling his curtains tightly closed, and lit up his wand as brightly as he could without waking the sleeping students in the bed across from his. It was odd that for the second time in as many days there would be more than just he and Neville occupying the dorm room, but odd in a way he could get used to. In a way he _had_ gotten used to, for six years.

He'd taken out the pages from his bag, along with a notebook and a pencil — surely, he had thought, he couldn't write the _exact_ words down, but maybe he could create a shorthand only _he_ would understand, which was strangely appropriate foreshadowing, now that he thought about it. In any case, he could always burn the book after, and McGonagall would be none the wiser.

Well. The pages, a notebook, and a pencil. He'd flipped the first sheet, which was blank, over, to find a letter, typed – typed! with a Muggle typewriter! – addressed _To Whom It May Concern (and only to them)._ As he'd stared at the odd greeting, the words had faded. Shit. He'd forgotten about that. So he'd ripped off a page from his notebook and carefully covered all but the first word in the next paragraph – _You_ – to test and see how long it took for the writing to disappear.

So: _You_. Then one, two, three, four, five, six. Six seconds and then the type would fade into the paper. He had then rearranged his ripped page to cover all but the first sentence and read it quickly, and then again. And had continued in that fashion until the letter had been read, repeating the sentences over and over in his head before moving on to the next, so as to remember as best he could.

 _To Whom_ _It May Concern (and only them):_

 _You have been chosen, by someone I myself do not know, to have an active part in the resistance, the movement which hopes to bring down He Who Must Not Be Named and his followers. If you do not already know what it is called, I see no reason to say their name (for security reasons)._

Of course, it must be the Order, Seamus had concluded as the writing faded softly.

 _Contained in these pages are spells and instructions with which you will create and understand codes and ciphers. These will be used to decipher reports from various members of the resistance. The spell used to encrypt the reports in the first place is one you will learn, and does not scramble a message in a pre-packaged code, but rather a randomly chosen one. It is your job to translate it back into plain English, then seal it and give it to your contact. They will then send it to me._

 _You are not to interpret the data and reports. You are only to decrypt, decode, and decipher, and translate into the plainest terms possible._

 _You will receive the reports from your contact once a week, and you must send them back as quickly as possible. Understand that time is of the essence in such matters, and that many lives may depend on your work._

 _It is best that I do not know who you are, and vice versa. Tell no one of your work. You have been chosen because your contact believes you to be capable and trustworthy – do not betray that trust, or I will know._

 _Godspeed._

 _X_

Certainly unexpected (not that he'd had any expectations to begin with, but if he had, they would not have even remotely resembled this). And an incredible exercise in patience and self-control, two attributes which Seamus had never exactly been the master of before. It had taken almost half an hour to read the short letter, and he'd almost missed some bits.

He sat back to process the words, but found he didn't quite know how. _What?_ and _Why me?_ played over and over again in his head in a frustrating loop. And then: _McGonagall finds me capable and trustworthy?_

That thought seemed to have broken the dam, and now his questions were somewhat more precise: What kind of codes? And for that matter, what kind of reports? And from whom? And who the hell was _X_? Did McGonagall know? Could he ask her? _Should_ he ask her? The only person he knew whose name started with X was Xenophilius Lovegood, and that was altogether too obvious, so it must be a codename. Should Seamus get himself a codename? What would it be? And why Seamus? Why, why, why?

At least now McGonagall's question about Ancient Runes seemed to fit, though Seamus still didn't see how an interest and a slightly above average intelligence in Ancient Runes meant he would be the ideal candidate for the Order's codebreaker. In fact, if this mysterious X was so keen on secrecy, McGonagall probably hadn't known at all what she was asking him, and why she was asking him.

He took a moment to close his eyes and breathe. Neville's snores were soft, and Hannah's breaths were long and slow. Seamus supposed he should wake her so she could go and avoid suspicion in the morning, but he didn't quite have the heart – they looked so peaceful. Seamus was only _slightly_ jealous, but his stomach gave a strange sort of twist when his eyes passed over Dean's empty bed. He would love to discuss all of this with Dean – Blaise, X, even Mo – because he would know exactly what to say to make Seamus feel calm and in control. Dean always _made sense_. He was smart, but not intimidatingly so, like Hermione or Michael, and he had the uncanny ability to guess what made people tic, what made them do the things they did. And he would explain it all in easy terms, and they would laugh about the things Dean's little sisters got up to, and make dirty jokes, and do their homework together in the Great Hall. Well, Dean would have probably advised him against going to see Blaise altogether, and they would have fought loudly in the Common Room like they always did, but he would have ultimately conceded defeat because he didn't like conflict, and besides, he knew that Seamus needed his independence.

He didn't quite know how Dean would react to all this X business. He himself didn't quite know how to react. And he'd only read the first page. He looked to Hannah and Neville again and turned the next page over.

::

Seamus had decided, after reading about the first code, that he would take it slow, as it was late, and he needed his memory to be at its best. But it was just _so interesting_ , and it surprised him easily he understood the first one, then the second, then the third, which was harder than the other two (he'd surmised that they were steadily growing more complicated). The first had been a simple letter rotation system – A was B, B was C, and so on, until Z was A. Well, that was easy enough to understand, but just in case, there were even _exercices_ for him to practice with – whoever had written this document, which was more of a work book, was incredibly thorough. And then there were transposition ciphers, which worked by creating a pattern before hand, like flipping every pair of letters, or every second pair, like that. This one had two exercises with it: one with the pattern explained, and one without, so that he could figure it out himself. It took him only fifteen minutes, he had timed himself on the watch his Nana had given him for his seventeenth last March, and he'd almost laughed out loud when he got it.

The whole words-fading-after-six-seconds thing was a nuisance, but he got used to it simply enough, by writing down examples in his notebook and testing out the ciphers with his own messages. He'd be sure to burn it all tomorrow, he promised himself. The most difficult thing to overcome was the impulse to read ahead too quickly like he would with a book, but he was sure to be careful and keep his piece of paper pressed tightly against the words he didn't want to read yet.

He'd moved onto the third with confidence, the Caesar shift cipher, which was kind of like the first but definitely more complicated. The exercises for this one were much more difficult, and then there was one which combined the second _and_ third code, and that one took him a full hour and twenty-two minutes to understand, but when finally the message became clear – _I went swimming in the pond yesterday and the water was cold_ – he _did_ laugh.

"Seamus?"

Shit. It seemed like Hannah was not a very heavy sleeper, unlike Neville.

"Seamus, what are you doing?"

He positioned himself so as to hide the papers as naturally as he could – it would be awful if Hannah caught just one glimpse of a word and it faded into nothingness before he could see it.

"Writing some letters to Mam and Nana, you know how they get if I don't write once a week." Well, the second bit was true, even if the first wasn't, so it made him feel better about how easily the lie slipped off his tongue into the dark.

"What time is it? I'm sure it can wait until tomorrow," she said. He checked his watch quickly.

"Er, just past two." He hadn't even been aware of time passing like that; he'd been at it for nearly four hours.

"Go to sleep, then. If your Nana is mad, she can blame me." She smiled softly, then looked down at the sleeping man in her lap, her fingers reaching out to touch the puffy pink cut on his chin. He didn't even stir, and his little whuffling snored were light. "Hey, Shay?"

Now that he said it, he _was_ feeling quite tired, and stifled a yawn. "Yeah?"

"Do you think we'll be all right?"

He tilted his head at her. "You and Nev?"

He knew that wasn't what she meant, but he didn't like the sad look that came upon her dimly lit face when she brushed his wound. Her eyes crinkled and she smiled again.

"No, I mean all of us in general. But, while we're here, yes, that too." Her voice was soft and gentle, not a whisper, but it wouldn't wake Neville.

"He likes you. You know Neville, he doesn't have much confidence, and thinks you're out of his league. Don't look at me like that, you are," he said, because she'd rolled her eyes then pointedly stared at him. "But he's changing, you know, he's changed just in the past three months, and he'll come around. Sooner rather than later, I think."

She rested her hand in Neville's hair. "Thanks."

"As for everything else… I don't know if we'll be all right."

She sighed. "Me neither."

"I don't think anybody knows, and I don't want to guess, in case I'm wrong."

"I'd like to _think_ everything will be fine," she said, "but then things like _this—"_ she gestured to Neville's chin "—happen, and I think, well, shit, it's only November."

"And you're afraid of what more they can do," he said tonelessly. The thought had crossed his mind too, and more times than he cared to admit.

"Yes. And _then_ , I think, shit, it's _already_ November, and Anthony's right, we're not ready."

He said nothing for a minute and neither did she, choosing instead to pass her fingers through Neville's messy hair. He sighed in his sleep.

"I don't think all of us are going to come out of this alive," she said, her voice so low he almost couldn't hear her. He thought of Dean, who could be alive right now, but who could also be dead, for all the news Seamus had gotten from him since he'd left from Seamus' house on the cliff in August.

"Get some sleep," he finally said, and she nodded, readjusting herself so she was more comfortable, and no longer sitting upright with a grown man on her legs. She turned toward Seamus as Neville muttered in his dreams, snaking an arm around her waist unconsciously. She was still wearing her sweater and jeans, and Neville was in his favourite flannel pyjamas, and Seamus smiled at the scene despite himself. Hannah nodded at him.

"You too," she said.

He unlit his wand and waited until her breath slowed and steadied before he tucked his workbook safely back into his bag.


	7. Dark

With this chapter, I've pretty much surpassed (in number of words) the biggest thing I've ever written, and there's no end in sight here, so whoooo go meee (I think?). Anyway, this was written late at night so I'd appreciate it if y'all could point out any errors!

ETA: If any of you happened to have read this chapter when I first published it, I added a bit at the end.

\- Karo

* * *

"They're going to do _what?_ "

Seamus had spent his day hidden behind the curtains of his bed, having only left briefly for food, ignoring the strange looks the others gave him when he'd all but inhaled his meals, not speaking a word to the others. Neville, against the protests of most women in his life, had decided to go stick his hands in the dirt for the afternoon, even though he'd needed Hannah's help to even button his shirt, claiming he needed the therapy. Seamus had just shrugged when Lavender had thrown a scathing look his way, clearly asking him to argue with the injured man. All Seamus needed was some time to concentrate on the workbook, and though he felt a little guilty at wanting Neville to go away, it was worth it, because he'd nearly finished it by the time he realized it was almost midnight and he needed to go meet Blaise.

But now he was tired – his brain had worked incredibly hard all day, deciphering codes and puzzles, each more complicated than the last – and he was having a hard time understanding just what Zabini was saying. Well, he knew what he was saying, it was just hard to believe.

"I knew Gryffindors were stupid, but I didn't know they were also hard of hearing," Zabini said sardonically, hands folded in front of him like the last time. He was still elegantly dressed and meticulously coiffed, unlike Seamus, who hadn't shaved in three days and was definitely looking scruffy. "Starting Wednesday morning, only Slytherin prefects will be allowed to do rounds, deduct points and give out detentions."

It was a blow, all right. Knowing who was in the castle, when and where had been an enormous advantage. It was one of the reasons no one had gotten caught making their way to the Room of Requirement yet, and having active prefects as part of their group had allowed them some insurance against the antagonizing of the Slytherin ones, who knew they could not be too cruel while others were watching. That was all going to change.

"I didn't think they could do that," Seamus said, spotting elf-like movement in the back of the kitchens. He'd instructed Dobby much more carefully this time, and it seemed like the little servant had heeded his warnings.

"I think you'll find they can do anything they want around here," Zabini said.

Seamus passed his hand over his face, feeling the roughness of his chin. "Why are they doing this?"

Zabini raised an eyebrow but stayed silent, and Seamus knew he wasn't getting an answer, though he had the distinct impression that the Slytherin had one. Such was the game.

"All right," Seamus said, nodding in comprehension. "Your source—"

"I will not divulge who they are."

"Of course not." Though it was easy enough to guess, Zabini _did_ share a room with Head Boy Theodore Nott. "I was just going to ask – you trust their information?"

Once again, Zabini stared at Seamus for a long beat while Seamus forced himself not to slouch. He'd dressed better this time, opting for khaki trousers and a pullover instead of the sweats and t-shirt he'd had on the other night, though it didn't make him feel any more distinguished or confident.

Dean's voice resounded in Seamus' head: _fake it until you make it_. That's what he would have said, if he were here.

There was still silence. Seamus wanted to crack his knuckles or tap his foot or something, anything, to break the quiet.

Finally, Zabini spoke.

"I will not come to you with lies if you do not come to me with idiotic questions."

With that, he stood, turned, and made his way out of the kitchen without so much as a look behind him at the man he'd left at a long, empty wooden table.

Seamus let out a long breath he hadn't even known he'd been holding back as he pulled out his DA galleon from his pocket. The fake coins had been improved by Michael at the beginning of the year, and they would now shake, if the messenger required it, beginning with a soft jiggling and then ending with a full vibration if the message was not read within five minutes. Of course, sending such a message was risky, and they'd agreed to only use it when absolutely needed. But Michael had gone one step further, and had researched why Patronuses were able to communicated with their intended target and only them. He'd then somehow finagled the coins into doing something similar – the members of the DA, who'd signed their name on a sheet and given a thumbprint, would now be the only ones able to read them. Amazing magic, and dead useful. Like the clover-message Seamus had first received from Zabini.

He concentrated hard on his message and tapped the coin with his wand. It would send to all prefects, seventh-years and Ginny, and would ask them to meet in the Room in half an hour. It was almost twelve-thirty now, which gave him enough time to creep up the castle, and maybe even get a bite to eat first.

"Dobby?" he called out. He heard a pot clash to the floor and suddenly the little house-elf appeared in front of him with a pop, bulbous eyes staring intently.

"Yes, sir!" Dobby said, his arms rigid at his side, and Seamus swore the elf almost snapped into a salute.

"Er, at ease, Dobby." Seamus considered telling Dobby that he needn't have dropped the pot, but he had heard tales from Ron of the elf smashing his ears in the oven doors, and, having never had an elf himself, he didn't want to see a repeat performance. Dobby's hands, which were wearing three different pairs of colourful, knitted gloves, came together to twist his similarly bright jumper. He had dirty socks pulled up to his knobby knees. The little creature smiled at Seamus, bobbing his head.

"Mr. Finnigan, did Dobby do better this time?" His voice was incredibly hopeful, and Seamus couldn't help but smile widely at his miniature bodyguard..

"Aye, you were perfect. Can I get – actually, wait…" Seamus faded off for a second, an idea springing to the front of his mind, and Dobby stepped closer eagerly. "Dobby, can you do something for me? And for… Harry Potter's friends?"

Those were the magic words, Seamus knew, and Dobby jumped nearly a foot in the air, his large ears flapping about.

"Dobby will do everything he can to help!"

"Can you keep an eye on Zabini for me? You know, that student that was in here with me just now? Don't get caught, don't be obvious, you don't have to be on his tail all the time, just… let me know what he gets up to, all right?"

Dobby was nodding very intently. "Oh yes, Dobby knows all about spying. Harry Potter asked Dobby to spy on Draco Malfoy last year."

Seamus absorbed this information quickly – he didn't have enough time to sit and ponder. "Well, if you see Malfoy doing anything funny while you're at it, tell me about that too. But, Dobby?" He decided to take his chances. "First rule of spying, don't tell anyone you're doing it."

Dobby gasped, tears instantly welling up in his tennis-ball-like eyes. "Oh no! Dobby told Harry Potter's secret! Dobby didn't—"

He looked like he was about to go on, but Seamus cut his wailing off with a wave of his hand. "Dobby, it's all right, because it's just me. But make sure it doesn't happen again, understood?"

Dobby nodded solemnly. "Yes, Mr. Finnigan, sir. Dobby will watch Mr. Zabini closely, and Mr. Malfoy too. Dobby will do his very best to keep stealthy."

"Thanks, Dobby. Unless it's urgent, you can report to me next time I'm here, all right? And… do you have any rolls or anything I can eat? I think I'm going to be up a while longer, and—"

Dobby had jumped and scurried away before Seamus could finish his sentence, and the Irishman felt quite like he'd accomplished many useful things today.

::

Dobby had sent Seamus off into the castle after shaking his hand repeatedly with two apples (one green and one red), three cookies wrapped in a napkin, and a ham sandwich on rye bread, all of which were stuffed in his newly expanded trouser pockets. It was late, so the prefects were done their rounds for the night, and the moon shone on the castle walls along which Seamus creeped, Disillusioned. He should have taken a path different than the one he knew the Hufflepuffs would follow, but it _was_ late, and they were all supposed to be Disillusioned, so Seamus took the quickest route, not expecting to be spotted.

And he wasn't – it was _he_ who did the spotting. Rather, he heard them before he saw them, as one of them was not being particularly quiet, and he recognized the voice immediately.

"You're both mad!" Zacharias Smith cried, definitely _not_ Disillusioned, to two other whom Seamus couldn't see for their Charm. "We don't need this! We've got class in the morning!"

Seamus stepped into the shadows, even though he was sure that Zach had not seen him, for he was waving his arms around in anger.

"Zach…" someone whispered; it sounded to Seamus like Susan.

"Don't. We're going to get caught one of these days! Why the hell would they need to call us at this time? Fucking Gryffindors, they don't care about anybody but themselves. This is suicide, all of it." His tone was harsh and foolishly loud. Seamus thought it seemed like the right time to make himself known.

"Smith," he said firmly, his voice low and threatening, stepping forward. He knew he was still camouflaged, and he heard two surprised gasps from near where Zach was standing. "If anyone's getting caught, it'll be your fault, you goddamned idiot. Now Disillusion yourself now or I will."

Someone let out a squeak.

"Fuck this," Smith said, turning to wear Seamus seemed to be standing, squinting as he tried to make out the outlines of his body. "You're all fools. I don't need any of you. I'm going to bed."

"Then don't bother coming back to us at all," Seamus said, amazed at the coldness of his voice. It was like a bit of Blaise had seeped in him from only two conversations. "Get going, you two, I'll be there soon. I'll take care of this."

There was silence for a few seconds before the sound of soft, padding footsteps could be heard scurrying away.

Seamus stepped forward again, so he was only a foot away from the Hufflepuff.

"Do you know what I do, in the summers?" Seamus asked, his words still frigid despite the oddity of the question. Zach lifted an eyebrow in confusion, crossing his arms. "I work on the wharfs in my village, where I spend hours each day lifting containers full of lobster and fish in the hot sun. The containers weigh hundreds of pounds each. And I do it all without magic."

Zach let out a huff of disdain, but wisely did not speak.

"Do you know why I'm telling you all this, you great cowardly dope?" Seamus asked, but it was not to get an answer. "I'm telling you, because now that you've deserted us, if I find out you've so much as breathed a word about the DA to anyone outside of it, I will destroy you. And trust me, I have my ways of knowing. Understood?"

Throughout this, Smith's face had remained hard, though Seamus was sure he detected a flicker of fear in his eyes upon hearing the word _destroy_. Maybe it was a bit much – Seamus had always had a flair for the dramatic – but it was, well, true. His muscles _had_ been hardened by summers spent doing heavy lifting by the water with fishermen who knew nothing of magic and dirty blood. In brute strength, Seamus definitely led their group, followed by beaters Terry Boot and Ritchie Coote, and Su Li, who was actually trained in hand-to-hand combat.

"Your coin, please," Seamus said, and grabbed the flash of gold from Smith's hand when he saw it. "Goodnight, now." And Seamus stepped around Zacharias Smith and began running away. If Smith _was_ going to get caught, he didn't want to be anywhere near him.

::

Finally, breathing hard and sweating – the seventh floor had never seemed so far away – Seamus reached the room without any further incident. He thought he'd heard something near the fifth floor, but had quickly determined it was just Peeves floating around nearby, humming a dirty ditty to himself, unaware of the student passing below him. He slipped in and undid his Disillusionment to the sound of soft, worried chatter.

"It was you, then?" Ginny said when he entered and turned to inspect the room. Whoever had gotten here first had definitely not known what the room was to be used for, but it had transformed itself into a suitable meeting room, with seemingly just enough couches and chairs for their smaller group, a chalkboard and a table at the end of the admittedly cosy room. He pulled out a green apple and started eating it.

The others, still mostly clad in pyjamas and sweats, turned to look at him just as Susan jumped up from her seat and ran to him.

"Seamus!" she cried. "I'm so sorry, I don't know what's gotten into him…" She was wringing her hands in anxiety, and Seamus saw Hannah sitting in a corner with Neville, their heads bowed together and seemingly lost in discussion.

"What's this about, then?" Terry said. He gestured around the room. It was obvious that he hadn't called any younger than fifth year, and then there were only two. "What's going on?"

Seamus clasped Susan on the shoulder and looked around, counting quickly in his head. It seemed everyone was there but Smith, and Leanne Cooper, who had been sick in the infirmary all weekend. He made his way to the front of the room and the talking quietened to silence by the time he'd sat on the table and crossed his arms. Neville looked truly puzzled, tugging at the collar of his flannel shirt, and Ginny just seemed quietly suspicious, mirroring him with her arms tight across her chest.

Seamus looked at each face before taking a deep breath and beginning.

"I'm sorry for disturbing you all at night, but I felt it couldn't wait. I've got two pieces of news, and I can't say either are very good."

Ginny tilted her head at him, standing near the couch where Padma and Parvati were sitting in matching nighties. "Go on," she said.

"The first is an internal matter. It seems we have a defector." Seamus flashed Smith's coin to the group.

"Who!" cried Lavender, and Anthony swore loudly.

"It's Zach," Hannah said glumly, which sparked mutters of indignation from the gathering. Zacharias Smith wasn't exactly a _likeable_ person, arrogant and whingey at the best of times, but his family had influence and he had been an added wand, so it was a loss.

Ginny lifted up a hand to silence them. "Let him talk," she said firmly, and they stopped speaking so immediately, it was like she'd cast a charm to quiet them.

"Yes, well, I've spoken to him, and I think he understands not to tell anyone about us," Seamus said. "However," he continued, seeing Anthony's mouth open in protest, "I think it's best if we find a way to assure ourselves of his secrecy. And while we're at it, of everyone's. It's too dangerous at this point to not have insurance."

Anthony closed his mouth and nodded.

"Padma, Michael, that's your homework," Neville said from the corner, and the two acquiesced. "And for the second bit of news?"

"You can't just leave it at that!" Terry said from the other corner. "We have to think of all the possible consequences, and what we can do about it now, and –"

"Then you can join Padma and Michael in finding a solution. Seamus?" Ginny's voice was tight.

"Right. Well, if you've noticed, I only called the prefects and the seventh-years tonight. That's because what I have to say affects prefects directly."

Someone gasped a very familiar gasp, and Seamus looked at Susan squarely in the eye. She could not hold his gaze and lowered hers, biting her lips and playing with her shirt, though he continued to stare at her, as if trying to read her thoughts, for ten seconds before continuing.

The exchange was not lost on the others.

"The Carrows," he began, looking slowly away from the woman, "have decided to ban all but Slytherin prefects from doing rounds, giving out detentions and having control over House Points, beginning Wednesday morning."

" _Fuck,_ " Anthony swore as Ernie yelled out a wordless cry. Hortense Cooper, the younger sister of Leanne and a fifth-year Ravenclaw prefect, had wide eyes as her hands flew to her mouth.

"I'm sure you will all understand the implications of this soon enough, and I don't just mean that you won't get to use your fancy bathroom anymore," Seamus said.

"How did you find this out?" Ernie asked hoarsely.

"That… is none of your concern. What matters is that I _did_ find out, and I need all of you to watch out for the younger students more than ever. They might not understand what the loss of prefects we trust means, but you all do, and I need you to make sure they _stay out of trouble_. And same goes to you all. Be on your guard."

Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw or Gryffindor prefects wouldn't penalize a first-year for walking around with their shirt not tucked in, or for loitering in the halls, or for bumping into Head Girl Pansy Parkinson, but the Slytherin prefects sure as hell would.

Heads nodded in understanding around the room.

"We need a new watch system," Neville said. "Say… All right, say we have one person from each house on duty at night. I don't mean to patrol or anything, they can still sleep, but it'd just one person a student can contact if anything happens, one of us."

"Good idea," Anthony said.

" _Splendid_ idea," Ernie echoed, somewhat more pompously. Around the small room, there were sounds of agreement.

"I'll make the schedule if you want," Parvati said. "I'll just get you all to write down your names, before we leave—"

"No," Seamus said suddenly, brandishing his half-eaten and browning apple at her, "no names. If that list, or that schedule, falls into the wrong hands, then we're all fucked. Everyone think of a codename, we'll use those. We'll tell everyone Tuesday at the meeting."

Secretly, Seamus quite liked the idea of codenames, and he'd been thinking of a possible one for himself since the previous night. Anthony looked delighted too.

"Now," he said slowly, "I'd like to know just _what_ motivated our Carrow Overlords to do this. Susan, I think you might have some idea?"

She looked down at her hands once more as the others turned toward her. "I may… I may have switched around the patrol schedule to suit the DA better…"

"It's not just Susan, I gave Nott a detention with McGonagall the other day," Ernie said sheepishly, with none of his previous snob.

"He's _Head Boy_!" Lavender exclaimed.

"Well, he was being a prat," said Ernie as if it was a perfectly good excuse. And in any other circumstance, it _would_ have been a perfectly good excuse, but not in _this_ circumstance.

"I Confunded a couple Slytherin prefects, Vaisey and Greengrass, the other night when they almost ran into us on our way here," Padma said as he sister looked at her incredulously, "and I guess all they could remember was that it was a prefect, because we got an earful about it the next day, but they couldn't blame anyone."

"That was _you_?" Anthony said, aghast. "Well, I've been giving a few points extra to Ravenclaw every time the Carrows take some for no reason."

"Same here," Hannah muttered as Jack Sloper, sixth-year Gryffindor prefect, winced and nodded.

"It seems we've solved _that_ mystery," Ginny said dryly.

"Guess so. Just be more careful from now on, all right?" Seamus sighed and yawned.

"Anything else, Shay?" Neville asked, and when Seamus shook his head, he turned to the group. "You're all free to go after you write down your codenames for Parvati. Someone catch up Leanne, yeah?"

"Michael, can I talk to you for a minute before you go?" Seamus said as the others took their turns writing on a piece of paper Parvati had produced from thin air and then slipping out the door to wherever the room would let them out tonight. Neville looked at Seamus quizzically but Hannah pulled him away before Seamus could even dismiss his worries.

"Of course," Michael said softly, walking to where Seamus was standing near the table. "What can I do for you?"

Seamus had deliberately asked only Michael to stay back – he couldn't risk Padma telling Parvati or Lavender what Seamus was going to ask.

"When you're doing that research, mind trying to find a spell for me? It's—"

He proceeded to explain the clover and the message he'd received, though he was careful to say only the basics and not give out any details.

"I've never heard of it," Michael said, "though I'll certainly look."

Seamus suddenly remembered Zabini's faint foreign accent, and the tales about the beautiful Rosalia Zabini, who had married seven men, men who had left behind large sums of gold upon their untimely deaths.

"If it helps, try looking for something Italian."

Michael tilted his head to the right and looked past Seamus, as if thinking deeply. "Italian? Interesting. I'll get back to you as soon as I can," he said, and Seamus shook his hand.

They lined up behind the few others left, each taking their turn to write down something hastily. When came Seamus' turn, he looked down the list of names - he saw _Nightingale_ , which must have been Lavender, _General_ , which wasn't much of a codename for Neville but at least it was the truth, _Knight_ , which sounded suspiciously like Ernie, _Ruby_ and _Sapphire_ had to be the Patil twins, and the others, Seamus didn't recognize instantly. Michael had written his, _Arrow,_ in precise, fine lettering.

He and Parvati were left alone now, and she was yawning hugely, so Seamus had to come to a decision. He thought of what he had been doing in the past week: sneaking around, breaking codes, keeping secrets... It was different than what he was used to, as Dean had always called him an open book, but it wasn't bad different. It felt thrilling, it felt like he was part of an enormous riddle he could unravel if he worked on it long enough.

"Seamus?" Parvati said, tapping the parchment. She had dark circles under her eyes, and Seamus knew he did not look any better. He took the quill and quickly wrote the first thing that came to mind. _Foxtail_.

Satisfied, he and Parvati slipped into the dark corridors, Gryffindor Tower calling their name.


	8. Punishment

Monday dawned cold and early, and Seamus felt like an old man being awoken from his deathbed when his alarm rang out much too soon. After his late night, he felt he much deserved more time asleep, but his stomach rumbled angrily at the thought. He decided against opening his eyes for the moment, instead rummaging around the drawer he always left open in his bedside table for his wand so he could spell the damn ringing quiet. He groaned as he groped through the mess, but before he could find his wand, the sound shut off quite suddenly. He forced his eyes open to find Lavender, already dressed and prim, staring at him from his bedside, her face wild, her hands in her mouth, chewing her nails.

"Fuck! Lavender!" Seamus swore as he gathered up the sheets that had almost fallen too low on his naked body (he always slept naked, and Neville always protested). He thanked the moon and stars and the faeries that he didn't have morning wood for once.

"Hurry up," she said, her words clipped, her voice anxious. "They've got him tied up in the Great Hall." She threw him his bathrobe, which she must have found laying at the food of his bed messily.

Neville poked his head blearily from behind his curtains across the room. "Lav? What—"

"Get up, you lazy oafs, you have to see this." She strode to Neville's bed and ripped open the curtains roughly while he stared at her in shock.

"They've got someone tied up?" Seamus rubbed his eyes as he slowly pulled on the old worn robe. His brain hadn't quite caught up to the situation, and Neville didn't seem to be faring much better, though at least _he_ was clothed.

"Smith. You'll see. Just hurry up, I'm going back to the Great Hall. Susan… She's in a state." She walked to the door quickly but before leaving, she turned around to say "Up!" with a stern look. Then she was gone, leaving the two boys to stare blankly at each other, their minds desperately trying to make sense of her words.

"Bugger," Neville said, breaking the spell, and they both jumped up to get ready as quickly as they could.

Standing in the bathroom brushing his teeth, Seamus cast a look of regret at his own scruffy, almost fully-bearded reflection in the mirror (which threw out a disgusted " _Bah! You'll be lucky to be mistaken for a vagrant!"_ at him). He'd meant to shave today, really, but it seemed he wouldn't have the time. And Monday was his busiest day too – Ancient Runes followed immediately by Dark Arts, then lunch and Arithmancy. He hated grooming the magical way, preferring the control Muggle razors gave him, so it would have to wait until tonight.

Neville stepped out of the shower, pulled on his uniform quickly and they were both off, bags swinging behind them as they practically ran to the Great Hall. It was early still, and there were few in the corridors yet, but as they neared the enormous eating room, there were more people milling about, dark, worried looks upon their faces.

Bursting into the Hall and scanning the room, it took them a full thirty seconds before spotting Zacharias Smith. Lavender beckoned them from the Gryffindor table before they could properly look at him, and they hurried over to where she was sitting with Susan, Hannah, Luna, who stared dreamily at her porridge and fruit, brows furrowed, and Terry, whose horrified eyes seemed unable to stop looking at Smith, and whose plate of sausage and toast seemed untouched.

"Snap out of it," Hannah was telling Terry as Seamus and Neville sat on either side of her, "you look completely suspicious." He shook himself and looked at her before nodding and picking up his fork, though obviously still preoccupied.

"It doesn't matter, everyone's looking anyway," Lavender murmured. Seamus allowed himself to observe Smith from where they were sitting not far. He was up on the professors' dais, a few feet to the left of the long table, arms bound behind his back to a wooden pole, which had not been there the previous day, feet bound in the same way. His head hung limply from his neck, either from lack of consciousness, fatigue (Seamus did not know how long he'd been there) or shame. It was painful to see but Seamus couldn't look away, finding himself counting out the slow rise and fall of Smith's chest just to assure himself that the man was indeed alive. And Lavender was right, everyone _was_ staring, even Blaise, Seamus noted with a strange sense of satisfaction. The Slytherin's eyes darted back and forth from the table to the bound Hufflepuff though his face betrayed no emotions, unlike the small blonde sat next to him whom Seamus recognized as Astoria Greengrass, who had a look of horror on her face as she gazed openly upon the prisoner.

Many professors were absent, McGonagall, Sprout and Flitwick included, and most of the others seemed utterly horrified and even repulsed. Professor Vector, whose normally cold demeanor frightened the most hardened of students, had her lips pursed so tightly they all but disappeared, and beside her sat Hagrid, who was shaking visibly. Slughorn, who sat closest to Smith, looked incredibly perturbed, and was wringing his hands over and over until Madam Hooch grabbed his arm, whispering something to him. The others had quite vacant expressions, and Snape looked as sour as ever, though his two fellow Death Eaters had wide grins as they tucked into their breakfast with gusto. Hannah shuddered as she looked at the two siblings.

"They must have gotten him after we left," she said under her breath.

For all that he was hungry before, Seamus' appetite had gone away, leaving only twisting turmoil in the pit of his stomach. "This is not good for us," he said, thinking instantly of the possible consequences. Terry met looked up from his plate and shook his head, but the _I told you so_ Seamus expected went unspoken.

"Us?" Susan yelped. "He's the one tied up!" She had dark circles under eyes and her hair was dishevelled – it seemed she had not slept much after their meeting.

Seamus spotted Anthony and Michael rushing forward toward their spot at the table just as the Carrow siblings stood up simultaneously from the table and cast twin _Sonorus_ charms. The two Ravenclaws slipped in beside Luna just before Amycus began to speak.

"I'm sure," his greasy voice resonated across the Great Hall as every student present stopped what they were doing to stare, "that you have all noticed our guest, and you're probably all wondering why we've invited him up here."

Alecto continued. "Our dear Mr. Filch—" Seamus hadn't the caretaker before now, but there he was, standing behind Smith with Mrs. Norris in his arms, grinning quite widely, chin up in pride. "—found this student in the corridors last night, hours past curfew. _Ennervate_ ," she said, pointing her wand at Smith, who immediately began to struggle against his bonds and yell, though no sound escaped from his mouth.

Lavender closed her eyes.

"Zacharias Smith of Hufflepuff," Amycus spat, "can you tell us what you were doing last night that warranted having to break such an important school rule?"

Alecto flicked her wand at him again, and his voice filled the room, hoarse.

"Get me the fuck out of this! What the hell do you think you're doing? My father works at the ministry! You're going to be in so much goddamn trouble!"

"Language, Mr. Smith," came Snape's silky voice from the centre of the table, and Smith spat in his direction.

"It seems Smith here doesn't know too much about respecting his superiors, hm? And you didn't answer your professor's question. Whatever were you doing out so late at night?" Alecto cackled after she asked it.

Dread swept up from Seamus' toes to his heart and he felt his throat tighten in fear of what Smith would answer, but Anthony's eyes found his and he shook his head.

"We didn't sleep," he whispered, indicating Michael with his head.

"He won't talk," said Michael. Smith still had not spoken, and Seamus felt a surge of anticipation.

"We haven't got all day," Amycus barked. The prisoner's head lifted and he seemed to search for someone in the hall. Seamus had a sick feeling he knew who it was, and he was proved right when Smith's gaze met his, a sneer painting his mouth.

"I was sleepwalking," he snarled.

Susan gasped then immediately shut her mouth with an audible click.

"Sleepwalking, he says," the female Carrow repeated. "Well, we've decided to rectify this problem. From now until tomorrow morning, we'll have our guest tied up here, just so his feet don't get any ideas and try to wander around without our permission."

Her brother laughed. "Don't worry, we aren't cruel people. We'll feed him." He pointed his wand at an apple from the table and levitated it so it hovered in front of Smith's face, just out of the reach of his mouth.

Neville's hands shaped fists and his knuckles whitened as they watched the apple move closer then further again and again. Smith's mouth didn't even try to snatch a bite, and the Carrows laughed viciously at their stupid game.

"No? Oh, you'll be hungry soon enough. Everyone, remember what can happen when you break the rules," said Amycus.

"They're there for _your_ protection," said Alecto, and she laughed again, sending sharp shivers down Seamus' spine. "Back to your breakfast now, and don't be late for class!"

The two Death Eaters sat down and began to eat again, and Seamus swore one of them was humming. Smith had been silenced again, and he was no longer yelling, only staring hard straight ahead.

"Mike? What do you mean he won't talk?" Neville asked.

"Tony anticipated that something like this would happen, either Smith would get caught or he'd try to snitch."

"I thought of the spell the ministry put on my mum to keep her from talking about magic, you know which one I mean?" Anthony continued.

"Aye, Dean's parents have it, though my da never did," Seamus said. "For all you purebloods, it diverts your attention away from talking about magic, so that no one noticed you changed the subject. Dead useful, I know Dean's mum is a blabbermouth and has always been grateful for it."

"Exactly," Michael said, "but I modified it a little to suit our purposes. It's complicated, I won't bore you – all right, I'll explain it to you later, Terry – but essentially, everyone whose thumbprint we have won't be able to talk about you-know-what around people who don't know about it."

Neville let out a low whistle and the vice that was squeezing Seamus' throat loosened its grip.

"Impressive," Lavender said.

"How do we know he hasn't already said something to them, before you did this?" Terry asked.

 _Damn it,_ thought Seamus, _I should have thought about that_.

"We don't," Anthony said bluntly, "but if he had… I think it would be someone else up there, don't you think?"

"Shay, eat something," Hannah said gently, putting some pancakes on a plate and handing it to him. He nodded and began eating mechanically, tasting nothing. As fast as he had begun to build his walls and his network, it felt like pieces were falling out at the same pace.

They sat in silence for a few minutes, and Lavender thrust a cup of coffee in Seamus' hand, which he drank gratefully.

"Luna?" Anthony said suddenly, and the Ravenclaw girl smiled at him. She hadn't said a word yet all breakfast.

"Yes?"

"Your father, he still does the Quibbler, right?"

Her smile widened. "Oh yes. Would you like a copy? Here, have mine." She bent down to her bag and pulled out a colourful magazine, which had a caricature of Rufus Scrimegour's face splashed across the cover. The headline "SCRIMGEOUR DISAPPEARS!" blinked in pink and yellow at them.

"I'd love one, thank you," said Anthony, and he immediately began thumbing through the pages, grinning.

"Sickle for your thoughts?" Terry said.

"Ah, they're rarely worth that much," teased Seamus, though it was a weak joke and he knew it. He didn't quite feel up to it right now.

"I think I've got an idea," Anthony declared, and there was something distinctly mischievous in his grin. "Nev, you free later?"

Neville nodded. "After Dark Arts, yeah."

"Excellent. Come find me in the tower, we'll talk. Ancient Runes, anyone?" Anthony stood and slung his bag over his shoulder, Seamus, Michael, Terry and Susan doing the same.

"And the rest of us have got Divination," Lavender said, smoothing her robes as she copied them.

"Do you think he'll be okay?" Susan asked, sounding very worried, gesturing to Smith. His head was leaned against the wooden pole and he was staring up at the ceiling, which was painted in mottled grey clouds today. A few owls were flying around the room, delivering mail.

"He's a pureblood," Seamus said, "they can't do anything too bad to him."

Susan didn't exactly seem assuaged, but she made her way to the door anyway, casing one last long look at Zacharias Smith before rushing out of the Great Hall behind her friends.


	9. Name

The longest chapter yet, to make up for the short one I posted last. It's still slightly filler-y, but hey, gotta set up the canon before getting to the rest, right?

As always, feedback is greatly appreciated.

\- Karo

* * *

Defence Against the Dark Arts, or just Dark Arts as it was generally called now with varying degrees of admiration or disgust, saw the seventh-year Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs grit their teeth through a vile lesson on how to create Inferi and the advantages in using such Dark magicks. The public punishment of Zacharias Smith had, however, caused quite a stir within the castle, and though the Hufflepuffs were rarely ones to speak out against Amycus' teachings, the situation seemed to keep even the bolder students in check. Ernie sat at the front, his chin held high and his eyes sparking with defiance, but he said nothing, and Neville was still feeling the effects of his last detention. So they sat, and dutifully took notes, though Seamus saw Lavender quite literally gag with disgust at some points and Susan's shuddering had returned with force. Seamus himself felt like retching at at certain moments, but Parvati surprised him the most – she seemed, for lack of a better word, indifferent toward it all, barely moving when the others winced and gasped and shook, and he resolved to ask her how she did it later.

"The best Inferi are the ones that have been violently killed," Amycus said at one point, with such relish you would have sworn he had been talking about going to the circus and eating cotton candy, "because then they're deliciously bloodthirsty, and you can get them to do anything for you."

Ernie's chin dropped an inch and Lavender closed her eyes. Seamus bit his tongue so hard it bled, and the metallic tang permeated his mouth.

Mercifully, the class wasn't a double, and when it let out, the students all but ran, parchment and quills in their hands, having not even bothered to take the time to stuff them in their bags. Hannah was rubbing Susan's back soothingly when Seamus pushed past them, making his way to the nearest bathroom where he could take a breath and rinse out his mouth.

He was breathing hard in front of the mirror, his head hanging from his neck and his arms braced against the sink when he heard someone walk in behind him.

"Shay?" It was Neville, and Seamus lifted his eyes to meet the other man's in the mirror. "Can I have a word?"

Seamus turned and leaned against the sink, somewhat apprehensive. He had barely spoken to Neville lately and had waved him off with terse _Later_ s everytime his dormmate had approached him. He hadn't even told him about Zabini, and that seemed quite old news to Seamus by now, as a week had passed since their first clandestine meeting.

"Of course." Neville fiddled with the strap of his bag nervously while Seamus spoke. "About last night, I assume," he said.

"Yeah, and… Well, all right, last night. Care to explain yourself?" Neville straightened himself, his voice taking on the tone usually reserved for DA meetings.

"Wait," said Seamus, and strode over to the stalls, poking his head down to see if there was anyone in the bathroom with them. He then turned to the door, closed it and whispered _Colloportus_ , then, pausing for a second, added a _Muffliato_. He turned back to face Neville, who reddened.

"Should have thought of that," he mumbled, but Seamus waved his hand in dismissal.

"You'll remember next time," he said. "Last night, I walked in on Smith in the corridor, completely visible, blathering on to Hannah and Susan. He was a liability, and he didn't want to be with us anymore, so I told him not to come back." Seamus shrugged, trying to keep his words casual and nonchalant.

"First of all, that's not what I was asking, and you know it. Secondly… secondly, it's not up to you to decide who stays and who goes."

Seamus lifted an eyebrow. "I took an executive decision, _General_. I feel like you would have done the same." He hadn't quite expected Neville to pull rank on him for this. Not that they even had an overly formal hierarchy– they'd voted on Neville as leader and Ginny as his second, but that had been the extent of it. Of course, order had fallen naturally, as most of the newer recruits looked to the original members for guidance, advice and knowledge. But they'd never even enforced the two positions they _did_ have. They sat in circles at meetings, and Neville felt as much like a student most days as a leader.

"Maybe, but that's besides the point, Seamus."

Seamus stared blankly at Neville for a beat. He was still unaccustomed to the man taking charge like this, and it didn't fit the image of the stumbling, stuttering, plump boy he had in his head. Neville was leaner now, his jaw jutted out sharply, and his nose was crooked from being broken so many time - he had, at times, and almost feral glint in his eyes.

"All right. I'm sorry. Next time—"

"Let's just hope no one else defects so there is no next time. As for the other bit… You've been avoiding my questions. You haven't spoken to me about Zabini since before your meeting, and you've been holed up in your bed the past few days, and then suddenly last night you call a meeting at one in the morning after I know for a fact you've been out of the dorm. Where were you? How did you run into Smith? They're eight floors down from us."

Seamus took a long breath, unsure how to begin answering, and of how much to divulge. A faucet dripped in the background. "I can't tell you everything," he said carefully, gauging Neville's reaction. The other man blinked. He opened and closed his mouth three times before speaking.

"Then tell me what I need to know."

"Zabini and I have made a deal."

"A deal?" Neville looked stunned.

"Of sorts. I mean, I still don't quite understand what he's getting out of it, but…"

"What are _you_ getting out of it?"

Seamus weighed his words carefully. "Not me specifically, but all of us. The DA. Zabini is going to be—" he paused, trying to find the proper term, "—an informant."

"He's the one who told you about the prefects?"

Seamus nodded. "He lives with Nott."

Neville was speechless again for a few seconds.

"Do you trust him?"

At that, Seamus smiled. "Not in the least. I've set Dobby to spy on him."

"You've set Dobby to spy on him," repeated Neville, incredulous.

"Aye. And I think I've got an idea on how we can gather more information around the castle." Seamus thought of Mo, the rudest brushstrokes he'd ever come across. "With the paintings. Come to think of it, maybe I'll talk to the ghosts too. Ideally, I'd like to have a network of informants throughout the castle." It was something he'd thought of last night after slipping back into Gryffindor Tower (the Fat Lady protesting loudly), and he'd almost forgotten the thought until now, what with Smith and all.

"Blimey, Seamus. You're… Why were you not sorted in Slytherin?"

Seamus laughed. "As much as I like the colour green, the Irish love gold more."

It was something he didn't speak of much, the Sorting Hat's offering of Slytherin, citing Seamus' slyness as a reason, but he had told Dean and Neville once in fifth year, amidst his falling out with Harry and Ron, that sometimes he thought he would have made a good Slytherin, in the truest sense. Ambition and cunning, not cruelty and archaic notions of blood-purity.

Neville passed a hand over his tired face. "Anything else?"

He thought of the codes and ciphers stowed in his bag (he had refused to leave the remaining pages in the dorm, preferring to keep them close to his body), his strange mission, and of X.

"No," he said simply.

Neville seemed satisfied. "All right. I trust you," he said. "But please, tell me everything you learn. You're our spymaster now."

"Spymaster," Seamus echoed quietly. It had a nice ring to it.

"Lunch? I've got to eat, then meet with Vati about scheduling, Professor Sprout about the garden, then Tony about strategies and such, I suspect." Neville pulled his back up higher on his shoulder and pointed his wand at the door. " _Alohomora."_ The lock clicked open and he pushed it wide with his left hand.

"Don't forget we've got a Transfiguration essay, and we've got to practice our concealment charms for Flitwick. I've got Potions to do too."

They walked through to the corridor, passing small groups of students talking quietly.

"Yeah," said Neville. "Wish we didn't have to worry about NEWTs on top of all this."

Chuckling, Seamus nodded surreptitiously to Mandy Brocklehurst, a new DA recruit, and Terry Boot, who winked, walking the opposite direction. "You're right, it's crap," he said. "I told Dean before he left that he was lucky to skip out on them."

He'd seen Dean all too briefly before the man had gone into hiding, as he'd Apparated to Seamus' Ireland home to give his farewells and his sketchbooks, and to borrow the Finnigans' magical tent. They'd both cried.

"Heard from him at all?" asked Neville, his voice low.

"Who?" said the voice of Ginny suddenly from behind them. She fell in step between the two men, her red hair swaying behind her back, and Seamus threw an arm around her shoulders jovially.

"Dean," Neville said, and she nodded solemnly. Seamus often forgot, in his worry and fear for his best friend, that Ginny had dated Dean before Harry, and that they'd stayed friends after that. Seamus wasn't the only one missing his mate.

"No, not a word. Better that way really, wouldn't want him to get caught."

They simultaneously jumped onto the first step of a staircase that had been about to move away from them, Neville teetering awkwardly.

"I wish there was a way we could find out who his father is," Ginny said, audible only to her two friends. "That way we'd know for sure."

It was a mystery, and a frustrating one, who Dean's real father was. The man had left unceremoniously only two weeks after Dean was born, and the baby had been raised as a Muggle by his mother Aïsha and then four years after his birth, his stepfather David Thomas, a kind and jolly man whom Dean loved deeply. Aïsha and David had given Dean three younger sisters, the whole family had taken the Thomas name (Dean and his mother having been previously Gueyes), and they had known nothing of magic until Dean's letter from Hogwarts had arrived. But the question it all begged had become rather important as of late, as Muggle-borns were being rounded up and stripped of their wands and homes. However, the fact was that Dean had no way of knowing if his father had been a wizard or not, and so he'd gone on the run to avoid the Muggle-born Registration Commission.

Dean and Seamus had fought about this decision before Dean left, even though they both knew it was the smartest move. Seamus had wanted to go with his friend, or contact the Order to find a safehouse for him, but there hadn't been time to spare, and Dean had gone, leaving Seamus with tears streaked on his face and a stack of books filled with charcoal memories.

They went on to the Great Hall and sat with the Gryffindors, and Seamus avoided Zacharias Smith's eyes the whole time he ate.

::

"About time you do something for the rodent growing on your face!"

Seamus swore at the mirror in Irish, earning him a disdainful huff from the object as he carefully shaved away the last of his beard. He wouldn't mind having facial hair, if his didn't grow in red and patchy, unlike Dean's, who had been able to grow a full beard by fourteen, and Ron, whose beard was even redder than his, but nice and thick. Neville and Harry were lost causes in the realm of beard-growing, so at least Seamus had _some_ advantage over them, but it still wasn't exactly worthy of boasting.

He'd spent the time between Arithmancy and supper working on the final code in the workbook, a tricky bugger that involved numbers, symbols _and_ letters, and working on the twenty-four inches he needed to write for Transfiguration. Potions he'd tackle tonight with Michael's help. It wasn't his favourite subject by any stretch of imagination, and he wasn't very good at it, but he needed the NEWT to get into curse-breaking. Well, at least it wasn't Snape anymore, and Slughorn was an all right enough sort, if you complimented him regularly and did the work.

"Smooth as a baby's bottom," the mirror chimed when he put down his razor and splashed water on his face.

"There's a disturbing thought," he muttered, quickly pulling off his shirt and stepping into a shower stall where he undressed fully. The water came on and he braced himself for the impact of the undoubtedly too-hot spray – it seemed, to the Gryffindor boys' neverending frustration, that all that magic in the world was unable to find the right temperature balance, probably due the fact that they were in a draughty ancient thousand-year-old castle built long before the age of indoor plumbing.

Seamus stood under the water, feeling the heat seep into his weary muscles for a minute before soaping himself up. He went over codes and ciphers in his mind, not wanting to forget – it was something he'd been doing almost constantly since beginning the workbook, and now that the pages had gone fully blank, he was feeling a terrifying sense of responsibility and pressure. He had to remember it all. This was for the Order, for the war, for the resistance, for Dumbledore's Army, for his widowed mother alone in Ireland with only a few cheap wards to protect the rickety old house, for Dean hiding somewhere in the UK… Seamus sighed. It had begun to snow today. He didn't even want to think about how Dean might fare in the snow.

"Christ," he whispered. He was too young for this. They were all too young for this.

He took his soap in his hand and began smoothing it down his skin, giving extra attention to a certain neglected body part that had twitched when he first touched it. _Why not_ , he thought. As long as he had the time…

::

"As you can see, we've formed squadrons based on special talents and skill levels. You'll each have a primary squadron, like we've listed here—" Neville pointed to one section of the chalkboard with names listed in groups of five and six "—and a secondary squadron, here." He pointed to the second section, which had mostly the same layout, though the squadrons were divided by age group.

"Why two?" asked Jack Sloper from the back. For tonight's meeting, they'd decided against Luna's preferred circle, setting up the chairs in an almost classroom-style, with Ginny, Neville and Anthony at the front, explaining their new plans.

"And why are we divided by year in the secondary squadrons?" said fourth-year Orla Quirke, nodding at Jack's question.

Anthony stepped forward. "Truthfully, it's because there's a possibility that the youngest of us won't be allowed to stay and fight if it comes to it."

There were small cries of protest and angry mutterings, mostly from the youngest Gryffindors, but Neville held up his hand to silence them. Seamus sat back in his chair, mulling this decision over.

"Look, I know. I myself am underage," Ginny said when the tittering had quieted down, "my birthday's only in August. We just want to keep you all safest as possible."

"But you've fought before," Sloper said, almost accusingly. "I've signed up for this _and_ we've been training. It's wartime, we know nothing is safe, and you're assuming this fight is going to be in Hogwarts."

"And you'll need as many wands as you can have," Hortense Cooper added.

"That's why it's only secondary. Our Plan A is to have you all somewhere in the castle helping out," Anthony said, a tinge of frustration tainting his tone. "We're assuming it's Hogwarts because that the only place we can plan for."

"But—" Jack began, but Neville cut him off.

"Let's move on. Sloper, if you've got questions, we'll talk about it after this. Now, as you'll see, there are two squadrons here, and here, which have stars next to them. This is our airforce." Neville gestured to the squadron, helpfully labelled _Air_ , and which had _Ginny Weasley_ , _Kevin Whitby_ , _Ritchie Coote_ , _Lisa Turpin_ , and _Demelza Robbins_ written underneath. "They'll have extra training time, led by Ginny, in which they'll be learning to fight from their brooms."

Seamus thought this was a good group. Of course, there were other flyers among them, and Seamus himself wasn't too bad on a broom, but Kevin and Ritchie were especially good at offensive spells, and Lisa had one of the strongest _Protego_ s in the DA. Ginny and Demelza were quick, able to dodge bludgers, and probably jinxes and curses, with ease.

"And these," he pointed to a group with _Lavender Brown_ at the top, "are our Healers." There were three other names aside from Lavender's: Mandy Brocklehurst, Hannah Abbott and Andrew Kirke. They'd been training with Lavender for a month already, as the idea had been to have someone capable of healing in each house.

"They'll be staying out of the fighting as much as possible, though they'll still be training with us. We can't take any chances," Anthony said, and Lavender nodded at him. "We protect them at all costs."

"Pomfrey doesn't know I've been teaching them, but I'll talk to her about training the whole squadron. It's risky, but maybe I could get her to come to the Room with us."

"Good plan, let me know what she says. Tomorrow we begin training in primary squadrons. Best to get to know your team in the next few weeks before holidays, I need you all to understand each others' fighting styles and strengths. The name at the top of your group is your squadron leader—" Ernie, one of the said leaders, puffed up his chest at Neville's statement "—and you should all try to think of a name together. Easier for us to remember."

Seamus scanned his team's list again, his own name at the top. Su Li, Jimmy Peakes, Parvati Patil, Jack Sloper and Leanne Cooper. He found them with his eyes in the small crowd, gazing at them each in turn. He liked Su – she was quiet, but had a wry sense of humour when she did speak, and he'd seen her bring down Terry in an informal wrestling match the other week after their regular training session. She nodded at him as he looked her over. Peakes had been a Beater on the Gryffindor team before Quidditch had been banned by the Carrows, and was strong and bold, though he tended to repeat the same spells over and over, lacking creativity in his duelling. Parvati was quick, and what she lacked in offensive strength, she made up for in an uncanny ability to predict what her opponent was going to fire before it happened. He'd have to ask her to explain to them how she did it. Sloper, well, he was stubborn to a fault, but he _did_ work hard, and took direction and criticism well enough despite his headstrong tendencies. Cooper was a wild card; Seamus didn't know her at all and couldn't comment on her fighting style, but if Anthony thought she'd do well with Seamus, he'd have to trust him. All in all, not a bad group, though they all needed work, Seamus included. There was a good mix of talents, and they were almost all older students, which Seamus hoped meant more mature.

Anthony sat down and Neville continued to speak.

"Next order of business, we've got some bad news." He proceeded to solemnly explain about the prefects, and there were more angry cries and questions.

"What the _fuck_ ," said Sloper, who'd come to stand near Seamus.

"I'm sorry but it is what it is, and we've got to work around it." Neville spread out his hands in a wordless apology, and Sloper huffed. "Here's our plan for now. Each night, we'll have a prefect or seventh-year on duty in each house for any of you to contact in case of emergencies. We've got a schedule made for the next couple of weeks – Parvati's passing it around now – but we'll send along messages on the coins every night as a reminder."

Kevin Whitby had the schedule in his hands as Neville explained, and looked up, confusion etched on his angular features. "There are no names, how are we supposed to know what this means?"

"Oh yeah, I forgot. We've picked out codenames – I encourage you all to do the same." Neville pulled out another rolling chalkboard from behind the first, and brandished a piece of chalk. "After this, you'll write down your real names, your house and chosen codenames on this board, and we'll practice using them tonight. If we speak about the DA outside of here, use the codenames as much as you can."

Kevin nodded and passed on the schedule to Luna. "So who's on for tonight?"

"There's General, that's me, and uh, Sapphire in Ravenclaw, who is Padma, and Barbie, so Hannah for the Hufflepuffs. Hey Han, why Barbie?"

She blushed as the entire group swiveled to look at where she was sitting in the left corner. Tugging at her braid, she said "oh, just something my dad used to call me when I was little."

Neville smiled almost indulgently at her before turning back to his troops. "Don't choose anything too obvious like your Patronus if you can avoid it, but something easy enough to remember."

"What's yours?" Jack whispered to Seamus. "I can't even cast a Patronus yet." He looked stricken.

"Foxtail, and neither can I, so don't worry about it," he answered. And he'd been trying for a year and a half, with no luck. It was embarrassing, at this point. Ginny had first cast hers, a gorgeous silver mare, in her fourth year, and Luna too. Jack, at least, seemed comforted by Seamus' inability, and smiled.

"Right. Arrow, that's Michael, is going to explain to you all a new safety measure he came up with this morning, and he's going to go over again how to send messages to specific coins. Listen up."

Neville ducked his head, reddening, when Michael said "Thank you, General," and stood to face the group.

::

When Seamus and Neville finally found their way back into Gryffindor Tower after all the others, it was late, and a fire was blazing in their dormroom's stove. The men fell into their beds to the sound of flickering flames, cosily wrapped up in the heat and their blankets, too tired to even speak. Seamus had spoken to his squadron, and they'd settled on the name Phoenix's Revenge (which Seamus and Su had thought was a bit much, but they'd privately agreed to shorten it to Phoenix whenever possible). He was happy with the group and was confident they'd work well together. He'd finished his Potions essay too – all in all, a productive day, and Seamus felt light when he slipped into a dreamless sleep.

He felt like he hadn't been sleeping very long at all when a sudden _thump!_ startled him awake. Disoriented, he scrabbled for his wand, casting a soft light when he found it. He couldn't see at all what the noise had been, though it seemed to have awoken Neville too, who poked his head out from his curtains with a bleary "What?"

 _Thump thump!_

"Shay, the window!" Neville said, eyes wider now. There was an owl, flapping his mottled brown wings against the pane. And not just any owl—

"Shit, Sullivan!" Seamus bounded up to open the window, and his mother's owl flew in, promptly settling itself by the stove and shaking off a few snowflakes. He hooted as Neville stared dumbly.

"What the fuck are you doing here, Sully?"

The owl hooted again and ruffled its feathers in disdain. The bird lifted its leg so Seamus could untie the letter attached to it, clearly impatient.

"It's cold!" Neville said, pointing to the window. Sullivan turned his head to stare at the man who spoke, who hunched his shoulders under the owl's pointed gaze.

"Sully, go to the owlery. It'll be warm there, and then tomorrow at breakfast you can come see me in the Great Hall with the other owls," Seamus said, but the bird just pulled his wings in closer, perfectly happy near the fire. "Still stubborn as ever, I see. Go on, go. I'll get you some treats tomorrow!"

With one last grumbling, low hoot, the bird flew away, leaving a little grey crap pellet where it had been sitting.

"Fucking bastard," Seamus mumbled, closing the window tightly behind said bastard. "He's a terror."

Neville spelled away the mess with a flick. "Who's it from?"

"Sullivan's Mam's, dunno why she'd be sending a letter this… late…" Seamus had unfurled the parchment and his sentence had faded off as he began reading, his mouth hanging open.

"Seamus? Everything all right?"

The Irishman didn't answer, indeed, it seemed he hadn't even heard the question, so engrossed in the letter he was. His eyes scanned quickly, once, twice, then slower once more.

"Shay! Is it your mum? She okay?"

Seamus blinked at Neville.

"It's not from Mam," he croaked. His tongue darted out to lick his lips, dry from having sat agape for two minutes.

"Who is it?"

He swallowed.

"Dean. It's from Dean."


	10. Blaze

Susan must have been the first to enter the Great Hall that morning, Seamus thought, and he wondered if she'd even slept. She sat perfectly still at the very top of Hufflepuff's table, her eyes trained on Smith, her breaths so small that it she seemed almost statuesque. Snape and the Carrows hadn't even arrived yet when Seamus found her.

Smith himself must have lost consciousness at some point in the night, whether it was from hunger, pain or exhaustion, no one could know, and his head hung limply from his neck, his wrists dangling from their roped stronghold, mouth open, breathing ragged and shallow.

The others had sat themselves around Susan, but not very close, as if they were afraid to disturb her, as if she might crack if they touched her. Even Hannah, who sat across from her friend, didn't, or couldn't, speak to her, and she kept her gaze on her plate, though she barely touched the food. Anthony had a strange steely glint in his eye and a hard jut to his jaw when he slipped in next to Seamus. Ernie clapped them both solemnly on the back as he took a seat.

"Poor chap," he said, flicking his eyes to Smith. No one answered.

Seamus felt heavy. He had not been able to sleep, and when he finally did drift into some kind of slumber, Dean's letter tight in his hand, it was nearly dawn. He felt heavy, the letter felt heavy in his pocket, his tongue felt heavy in his mouth, like lead.

He wished he'd been alone when the owl had thumped his wings into the window, so that he could have kept the letter to himself just for a bit and hold the words that were meant just for him close without having to share them.

Anyway, Neville _had_ been there, and he _had_ read the sentences out loud for him, and now he'd read them again so much they were burned on the back of his eyes.

 _S –_

 _Don't get mad I'm writing this. It's Sunday, and I'm in your house. I think your mum's gone to church. The wards still let me in, so I don't think it's really breaking and entering, technically. Don't call the Aurors on me._

Seamus felt vaguely that he _should_ be angry that Dean would be so stupid to write and send a letter that could be so easily intercepted, but he'd found no evidence of tampering, seen no odd ruffling of feathers, so all he felt was relief.

 _I'm all right, I'm alive. I met up with someone else a couple weeks ago and we've been travelling together since. He's a great bloke, says he knows G, and N's parents. I got injured around Halloween, splinched my leg something fierce while trying to get away from some Snatchers before I knew about the Taboo, but I'm better now. He helped me a lot._

Fucking Snatchers. Seamus had heard of them, vultures searching for Muggle-Borns to report, though he'd been in Hogwarts by the time the first groups had cropped up, and had never actually seen any.

 _You were right (don't let it go to your head), I'm not cut out for this outdoors-y stuff. My partner is better at it, and he thought me how to fish and set traps for rabbits. You'd be so proud of me. I hope it's not too crap for you and the others, but if I know you lot, you're holding your own. I've still got my coin, and I get all the messages._

That sentence, no matter how many times he read it, filled Seamus with something hard, and it ached in his throat and his chest.

 _I know you'd hit me for being so sentimental, but I fucking_ _miss you_ _. I didn't know how much I would when I left._

He'd underlined that last bit twice, and the ink had blotched and splattered at the end with the force of it.

 _I took some clothes and blankets from your room, and some food from your cupboards. I hope your mum doesn't mind. I can't stay and explain, it's better if she doesn't see me, though I've left her a note. I don't want to risk sending an owl to my parents, do you think you could find a way to contact them for me? I'm sorry for putting this on you. And tell the others I'm thinking of them, and I miss them too._

 _We're leaving the country again today. Magic doesn't work right around here, unless you're in a town, but I guess you know that. Merlin, but it's beautiful. I've seen parts of Britain I didn't even know existed, and I wish I could paint it all. Hope you're taking good care of my sketchbooks!_

 _I've got to go now. Wish you were here, or I was there, and that this war was over._

 _Your brother,_

 _D_

 _P.S. Did you know you've gotten a cat? Ugly, scratchy thing. I think your mum's lonely. Write to her._

"Seamus? What's that?"

He hadn't even realized he'd taken the letter from his pocket, hadn't registered the words as he read them, hadn't even noticed Luna sitting across from him, hadn't even felt the others turn to stare at him. He looked up, startled.

"It's, uh…" He stared at Luna, who had a daisy tucked behind her ear in her long white hair. A daisy, in November. He cleared his throat, finally noticing Anthony, Ernie and Hannah looking at him. "A letter from Dean."

Luna's smiled serenely at him. "Oh. How is he?"

" _Dean_ wrote to you? Is he mad?" Ernie hissed.

"Could be. I don't think he's doing as well as he lets on," he said. His ears heard how dead his voice sounded, but he couldn't be arsed to do anything about it. "He says he's missing you all, and that he still reads all our messages on the coins."

Anthony tilted his head at him. "Huh, do you suppose many of the original group kept their coins?'

Just then, Neville and Ginny walked up, and sat themselves either side of Luna.

"All right, Seamus?" Neville said softly. He nodded at the letter, still held between callused fingers. "Gin's pretty sure she knows who his partner is, though I don't think you'd know him."

"And I'd rather not, in case I'm ever questioned about it." He looked up at the empty seats on the dais, then to Smith, who was still tied, though his captors had said they would release him this morning.

"Is she okay?"

It took Seamus a second to understand to whom Neville was referring, until he realized Susan was still staring rigidly at her House-mate, oblivious to their speaking of her. He briefly wondered if the two were dating, and it was a thought that saddened him. Hannah sighed.

"She blames herself, you know. She's the one who convinced him to join up again this year, he didn't want to," she said. "His family's business isn't doing too well, what with the exchanged rates being all skewed up because of the war, and…"

"No one forced him to do anything." Ginny's tone was clipped and unaffected. "Defend Susan, but you certainly don't have to defend him."

"Ginny!" Ernie looked properly scandalized.

"I'm not saying he deserves this—"

"No one does," Luna murmured.

"—well, some do, just not him. But we have rules in place for a reason, and there are always consequences—" she stabbed a sausage with her fork forcefully "—to—" she slid her knife into it as if it had personally affronted her "—our—" another stab "—actions." She popped the piece of meat in her mouth and chewed loudly, swallowing with an audible, harsh _gulp_. "It could have been Hannah, or Susan, or _Seamus_ ," she said lewdly, "because he put us _all_ in danger when he decided to go faffing about in the corridors like a _stupid selfish troll_."

If it hadn't been for the chatter surrounding them, and the scraping of forks and knives and the spilling of juice and scratching of quills, it would have been deathly silent. Ernie's mouth hung open and Neville looked a bit like he'd tickled a sleeping dragon, a dragon who'd reared up and blown fire on their arses. They all stared at her as she kept on chewing violently.

Finally, a peep from Luna: "Ginny?"

Just then, the Great Hall really _did_ fall quiet, though not, Seamus concluded, because of Ginny's outburst, but because of two of Hogwart's three Death Eaters and a widely-grinning wannabe were making their way regally down the centre lane, chins up, shoulders square.

"Sue," Ernie said, nudging his friend softly. Susan looked up him sharply, the first sign of movement she'd made in twenty minutes, then looked beyond him to the small procession getting closer to the front of the hall.

" _Ennervate,_ " Amycus said, his voice amplified by magic. Smith raised his head slowly, painstakingly, and his eyes were listless and red-rimmed. Something akin to a sob wrenched its way out of Susan' mouth, but when Ernie went to grab her hand, she batted it away quickly, her gaze intent on the Carrows and Filch, who was bobbing along behind them.

"Smith! I trust you had a restful night?" Amycus cried. Zach's head lolled to the side, but he did not speak. "When I ask you a question, I expect you to answer it, you idiot Hufflepuff!"

The whole student body and faculty held their breaths. Finally, Smith tilted his head so it lay on his shoulder.

"I'm sorry, _Sir_ , you've rendered me _speechless_ ," he said, his voice dry and cracked like a desert in a drought.

"The cheek!" Alecto said, cackling. "Seems to me you haven't learned your lesson!"

"Ma'am, Professor Carrow, maybe Smith would benefit from another night?" Filch wheezed, sounding reverent and entirely too happy at the concept. Bile rose up in Seamus' mouth, bitter and warm.

The siblings laughed again, and Smith's head rolled forward again, his weak muscles unable to support it.

"I would think _not_ ," came the voice of Professor McGonagall, who'd appeared at the entrance, her robes swishing grandly as she strode forward. Her eyes seemed black in their fury.

When she got close enough, she flicked her wand at Smith, who fell forward immediately when his ropes vanished, though he fell softly, and Seamus suspected she'd added a cushioning charm and one to slow his descent. Susan jumped up instantly and made to run to Smith, but she stopped abruptly, one foot in the air, and turned to look at Ginny and Neville, and unspoken question whirling around them.

Ginny looked down at her plate, but Neville nodded almost imperceptibly, and Susan took the acquiescence and skittered to her friend, taking the stairs two at a time, lunging for Smith when she'd reached the last one. She gathered him in her arms, and he was too weak to protest, though Seamus thought he might have had he been able to.

Ernie cast a long look at the Carrows before getting up to join Susan and Zach on the dais. He whispered something to Smith, who shook his head weakly before Ernie scooped up the smaller man in his arms and brought him down to the table.

"You'll pay for that, you meddling _bitch_!" Amycus said, back turned to Smith, facing McGonagall. He levelled his wand at her, and Seamus felt a sharp surge of anger rise up to his face, staining his vision scarlet. How _dare_ he speak to McGonagall like that? She had taught them, she was more powerful than anybody he had ever known save Dumbledore, what made them so _fearless_? His heart beat faster, too fast, but his head of house, of course, seemed unfazed.

"Shall I escort Mr. Smith to the infirmary, or can I trust you to do it?" she said, but it felt more like an accusation than a question, like an order.

Smith was currently being fed ripped pieces of dry toast by Susan, alternating with taking huge gulps of water by Ernie, who was holding him up. His eyes barely flickered at McGonagall as she spoke.

"Ha! I don't think so. He's already missed a day of classes, I'm positive he won't want to fall behind _even more._ " Alecto's voice was sickly sweet, cloying, and Seamus felt the anger rush on his skin like sparks of electricity, fill his stomach like acid, flow through his veins like fire. He could almost smell the smoke, he could _see_ the smoke, he could hear…

Someone screamed.

"Seamus, what are you doing? Sit down!" said a voice near him, he didn't know whose, he didn't care whose, he just felt the sharp crackle of flame licking his skin, the heat caressing his fingers, and then everything went black.

::

When Seamus came to, the first thing he smelled was… pepper. And then he felt softness, like a bed, but it wasn't his bed, the sheets were rougher, so he thought, yes, the infirmary, and it was confirmed when his eyes flew open to see the high vaulted ceiling of the hospital wing. His head felt hot, his ears scalding, and he reach up to touch a lobe. Steam was billowing out of his head. Well, that explained the pepper – someone, probably Madam Pomfrey, had given him a Pepperup Potion at some point.

He stretched his toes and his fingers, feeling an ache deep in his muscles that reminded him of work on the wharfs in the summer. Groaning and closing his eyes tightly, not yet ready to face the sunlight, he cricked his neck first left, then right, the struggled to sit up, though it was a challenge. Suddenly, he felt hands on his ribs, pulling him up, and a pillow was place behind his back. His eyes blinked open to find the face of Zacharias Smith staring at him. There was no one else around, so it must have been him.

Seamus looked at the Hufflepuff, who sat back down on a chair next to the hospital bed. Smith seemed… better. Awake. The dark circles under his eyes had receded, which led Seamus to wonder what time it was, and then, more pressingly—

"What happened?" he asked, surprised at the hoarseness of his voice.

Smith sniffed in mirthless chuckle, and crossed his arms. "You don't remember setting fire to the Carrows?"

He can't have. Could he? The memory was vague – he remembered heat, swirling grey smoke…

"Not really," he said.

"You've been out two days, it's Wednesday afternoon. Pomfrey said it drained nearly all of your magic."

 _Two and a half days_.

"The… The Carrows?" Seamus croaked. If he had injured them… He'd have to run. Go find Dean. Hide.

Smith waved his hand. "Oh, they're fine, Flitwick put it out fast enough and they were only here for the day."

"Ah." He should have felt relief.

"They're… not happy, though. Wanted to throw you in the dungeons, but Pomfrey convinced them otherwise. You're going to have to watch your back."

Seamus contemplated this. Maybe it would be best to run, after all. He sighed.

"I didn't even know I could do that," he murmured.

"I didn't know _anybody_ could," said Smith.

Seamus looked down at his hands. He'd felt the blaze there, in his palms, and the flames had danced on his skin, and he'd liked it.

"Was _I_ on fire?" he asked, and the look Smith gave him, like he had lost his mind, was enough of an answer.

"I think I would have mentioned that," Smith said tightly.

"Why are you here?"

The air was taut between them, pregnant and waiting, for ten long seconds.

Then, "Ernie told me about what Michael did, the spell. I wanted to say that I understand, but that I wouldn't have said anything anyway."

"Might not have been up to you."

"Maybe. But I also want to say that I'm not coming back, even if you did want me back. I can't… I'm not like you. I can't take those kinds of risks, and I can't put my faith in a bunch of kids with a few jinxes memorized. That's all."

He stood and began to walk away without another word.

"Then who are you going to put your faith in?" Seamus called out suddenly, and Smith stopped, turning back slowly.

He shrugged. "I don't know."

They stared for a long minute at each other, each trying to guess what the other was thinking, what his motivations were, before Smith pivoted and walked to the door soundlessly.

Looking down at his hands, Seamus noticed for the first time that Dean's letter was still clenched in his right one, where it had been for over two days. He wondered what Dean would say now.


	11. Wave

The last chapter up for a bit, I've got a ton of stuff on the go for the next couple weeks. It didn't quiiiite turn out how I was planning, and it was the hardest one to write so far, but this way felt better.

* * *

It was Thursday afternoon when Madam Pomfrey finally let Seamus go – he'd had to levitate an apple to a satisfactory height to prove he was well enough to go, a test which he'd scoffed at at first, but which had proven to be more difficult than he could have imagined.

Pomfrey had tutted at him after his first three tries. "Magic is not as easily replenished as a bone is fixed. Do try to avoid other such foolish displays in the future."

"Not like I planned it," he'd grumbled.

There was only one other student in the infirmary at the time, a young Hufflepuff whose nose had grown to elephantine proportions due to a Potions mishap, and he was currently reading a comic book intently, his trunk turning the pages. Pomfrey had stepped close to Seamus' bed, almost too close, and she had leaned down, a small smile playing on her lips that Seamus would have _sworn_ was conspiratorial.

"There was a student once, like you," she'd said, her normally clipped and professional voice nearly a whisper. "Years and years ago, a Ravenclaw."

"Madam Pomfrey, it's not a special skill or anything, you _know_ I set fire to things when I get frustrated, I've been here often enough for it. Been like that since I was a kid." He'd been exasperated with the whole thing. Neville had looked at him in awe when he'd come to the infirmary not long after Smith, and even Anthony and Hannah had regarded with something like admiration, and a bit like fear.

"That's how it started for her too, except with electricity. Static, lightning bolts… _Those_ injuries were harder to heal than burns."

Seamus had looked up at the healer, his interest sparked. "How did it end?"

"Well," Pomfrey had said, smoothing down her robes primly, "she got very good at it. She could control it."

And then she'd rushed off to help a student who had just limped in with a decidedly wooden leg. Maple, by the looks of it.

Now, Seamus was walking back to Gryffindor Tower, a talkative Neville at his side, feeling finally well-rested and much less sore.

"How much homework do I need to do?" he asked, somewhat fearing the answer.

"Oh," Neville said, waving his hand, "we took care of it."

Seamus' footsteps faltered in shock before catching up to his friend. "What? What do you mean?"

"Uh, well, we found your Transfiguration essay in your bag, so gave that the McGonagall, and Mike finished up your Potions and brought _that_ to Sluggy, and he said something about Arithmancy, I think maybe Padma did that. You did miss a test in Muggle Studies, but it wasn't planned or anything, and I think the old cow gave it to us just to spite you."

Shrugging his shoulder, Neville smirked, and Seamus gaped at him.

"What, did you think we were going to let you fall behind like that? Lav's got a list of what you need to do for next week. I think Flitwick and Babbling might give you a bit of a rest, but Vector and McGonagall probably won't, nevermind the Carrows. By the way, we've moved on from Inferi to murderous wards for your home."

"Neville… You really didn't have to. I lost my temper; I deserve to have _some_ consequences. It could have been anyone I lit on fire."

Neville looked around cautiously, checking who was around. No one, it seemed – the corridors were deserted. Even the paintings were unusually quiet. "Well, it _wasn't_ just anyone, it was the Carrows. I think you're _going_ to have consequences and not the kind we can save you from."

"Detention, you mean?" It had been a while since Seamus' last session, three weeks at least, a chilly Tuesday night spent in a damp dungeon while Crabbe and Goyle rained their fists and boots down on him for a snarky comment that hadn't been worth it.

"Yeah. They haven't said anything, but… We don't think they're going to let it go."

"No," Seamus said as they rounded the last corner before the corridor that let to their tower, "they'll hold the grudge. Hey, how's the prefect situation going?"

"Oh yeah, they announced it yesterday. We had to pretend to be surprised, though I'm pretty sure most of the profs saw right through us. Ernie is _not_ a good actor." Neville chuckled. They'd arrived at the Fat Lady, who rolled her eyes them.

"Well, at least you two _live_ here," she said, huffing as she crossed her arms.

"Yeah, sorry about that. Uh, wait, what is it? Right. _Embers_. Thanks, and uh, don't tell the Carrows or anyone about all this?" Neville addressed the Fat Lady, who sighed loudly.

"Of course not, but it's not much of a password if anyone knows about it, now is it?" She swung open to reveal a nearly empty common room, save for a few third-years tucked away near the roaring fireplace.

"Embers, Nev? And what do you mean _, all this_?"

The other man grinned, but said nothing, choosing instead to lead the way up the stairs to their dormitory. As they climbed steadily, the sounds of chatter and laughter reached Seamus' ears, louder and louder.

"Neville…"

Neville just pushed open the door to their room, where they were met with at least a dozen people, lounging on the beds and on the old stone windowsills, lying on the floor around the stove, which was flickering with flames and heat.

"Seamus!" someone cried – Terry – and then his ears were assaulted with whoops and cheers from those gathered. Lavender ran to hug him, and then Ernie stepped up to shake his hand, and Parvati to kiss his cheek, Anthony to clap him on the back, Jack Sloper to salute him… They were all there, all his friends, and the remaining fatigue he'd been feeling faded away as he took in their smiling faces.

"Well," he said as they somewhat quieted down, "I should slip into comas more often."

"How did you _do_ that?" said Susan from the back. She was sitting on the sill, braiding Hannah's hair, who was tucked between her legs, smiling widely.

"Dunno, luck o' the Irish?" There was a smattering of appreciative laughter.

They spent the evening talking, giggling, joking, ranting and swearing, and Seamus wondered at them all. They were all so young, and so… enthusiastic. Sloper's voice was still on the tail-end of puberty, and cracked when he laughed and talked about battle strategies. Lavender sucked on strawberry-pineapple flavoured sugar quills while she explained her plans for further education, her mouth stained a brilliant chemical red. Luna told them the tale of a Chizpurfle circus her father had once found in their backyard, and she told it with such absolute certainty, a tiny part of Seamus couldn't help but believe it too.

Soon, too soon, most of the students gathered slinked off to their respective dormitories, leaving only a small number – Neville, Hannah, Anthony, Luna, Lavender.

The chill of Ginny's absence felt its way up Seamus' spine. He hadn't seen her all night, and he almost hadn't noticed, as the others seemed intent on not mentioning her.

Neville and Hannah, who were laughing about something or other, were currently occupying Seamus' bed, Hannah's head on Neville's shoulder, Lavender's candy stuck between her teeth, blonde hair spilling out over his chest. Luna and Anthony had a long piece of parchment out and were writing something together, crossing things out, whispering.

"What are you two doing?" Lavender called to them from where she was sitting at the foot of Seamus' bed with him, their legs entwined.

"Hmm, you'll find out—" Anthony began.

"Wednesday," Luna finished, before gasping and pointing to something on the parchment. Anthony grinned at her, nodding.

"Yes, that'll do nicely," he said, bending down to write some more.

"Nev, do you know what they're up to?" Hannah asked. She fed him a bit of a cherry licorice wand.

"Course, but it's a surprise." He tweaked her on the nose, and she ducked her head, smiling.

"Ack, you two. Get a room!" Seamus cried, wrinkling his nose in a facsimile of disgust. Neville just blushed, a red so bright it was still visible under the shadow of Seamus' four-poster.

"This is a room," Neville called out. "You just happen to live in it occasionally."

"Yeah yeah, I'll try not to blow up any more professors. _Someone_ needs to chaperone," Seamus quipped easily, but absent-minded. He was staring at his coin, turning it over and over, wondering if Dean was doing the same. Michael had explained to him that because of the new charms he'd placed on the Galleons, there was no way to send a specific message to Dean's, but Seamus contemplated sending one to the whole lot, bugger who else read it. It's not like there was space for more than a few words anyway. He didn't even know what he'd send if he could. There was no way he could find the words for how much he missed Dean.

"Hey, who's on duty tonight? I'll send out the message," he said, rubbing the coin with his fingers.

"You got enough magic for that?" Lavender said softly. She'd been reading Dean's letter, and held it tightly in her hands.

Seamus shrugged. "If not, you will."

"We've got Gin, that's Cleansweep, and Ernie, Knight, and Terry… Uh… Shit, I can't remember," Neville said. Seamus knew he'd been practicing the names in his absence, but Neville's memory had never _exactly_ been stellar.

"Digger," Anthony supplied helpfully, "because he used to dig a lot of holes as a kid."

"That's odd," Seamus murmured as he sent off the three separate messages, one to Gryffindor, one to Hufflepuff and one to Ravenclaw.

"He likes geology," said Anthony, his words muffled by the quill in his mouth.

The words disappeared slowly on the coin as Seamus watched. "Hey, where _is_ Ginny?"

It was silent for a few seconds, but for the crackle of the flames in the stove. Lavender folded Dean's letter and sighed.

"She's been… moody," she said carefully, placing the parchment back into her friend's hands. "Hasn't really said why. She made us run ten laps around the Room yesterday at training."

"Oh," Luna's voice floated over to where Seamus sat, "she's very worried about Harry, you know, and Ron and Hermione, and jealous that Seamus got a letter from Dean, and angry that Harry hasn't contacted her at all, and frustrated because she misses Dean too, of course, and she thinks it was very dangerous of him to send the letter to you. And one of her dormmates snores, so she hasn't been sleeping."

Anthony stared at her, amused. "She said all that to you?"

"Well, the snoring, yes," said Luna, as if it was all very obvious.

"Thank you, Luna," said a tight voice, and they all looked up to see Ginny at the door, her hands clenched tightly at her side, clad in grey pyjama bottoms with hold around the ankles and an old orange Cannons shirt, a shirt that Seamus knew belonged to Ron. "With the racket you were making earlier, I'm surprised McGonagall hasn't been 'round to tell you all to go home."

"It's not even past curfew yet," Anthony said, gesturing with the quill, but his grin faded when he saw Ginny's rigid posture and firm fists.

"Seamus. Glad to see you're doing better." She still had not moved from the doorway, and her cold tone was not as pleasantly inquiring as the words would have suggested.

"Look, Gin," Seamus said, pushing himself up off the floor to face her. He cursed his shortcomings in height – Ginny was at least an inch taller than him, and she knew it. "I know you're worried about Harry and Ron—" he eyed her orange shirt with comprehension "—but you _know_ it's best if they don't contact you."

"Dean found a way," she said, holding his eyes steady.

"It was stupid, you know that. He shouldn't have done it. He could have led bloody Snatchers right to my mam's house. For all I know, he did. Haven't even had a chance to write to her yet."

She said nothing.

"Ginny, I know what it's like. I'm worried sick too. Think I've been sleeping well? Think I don't have nightmares? I do. Fine, be angry. But don't take it out on them!" He waved his arms around the room. Neville sat up straighter.

"No, you don't know what it's like," she said coldly, her knuckles whitening. "That's my brother out there, and my best friend, and my… well, Harry. You _don't_ know."

He felt a flash of anger – not the fiery kind, but the kind that would leave him tired and shaking and frustrated after it passed.

"Oh, cheers!" he cried, a sardonic smile gracing his face, and before he could stop himself and consider the consequences: "You've found three for the price of one!"

Silence. Ginny's mouth widened with her eyes, and he heard Lavender suck in a sharp breath. A quill dropped to the floor, and he realized his mistake.

"Dean's not… You and Dean, you're not…" Ginny stammered, unclenching her hands slowly.

"Oh goddamn," Seamus swore, more at himself than at her, "no. All right? No. We're not. Dean's straight." He was intensely aware of his friends staring at him, and suddenly he felt too hot in his clothes and in his skin.

"But you wish…?"

"Not a peep out of you, Brown, thank you. Just forget it. I should never have said anything."

Ginny blinked at him, her brown eyes softening, then, seeming to decide something, she nodded once. "Let's go for a walk," she said abruptly.

That stopped him short. "I… okay." It was only eight, and curfew not for an hour yet. Lavender and Hannah would be heading up the Room of Requirement shortly with Mandy Brocklehurst and Andrew Kirke to work on splints and tourniquets, Anthony and Luna were too busy plotting to be interesting, and Neville had declared earlier that he was going to finish his Magical Creatures essay tonight, damn it, though Seamus thought he might alternate with pining after Hannah left.

Ginny turned and made her way down, not even checking to see if he followed. Which he did, after a beat and a look around at the others, who all seemed… sad. Even Luna smiled at him in a way that could only be classified as wistful, and Anthony gave him a thumbs-up that was probably supposed to be encouraging, but ended up looking only a little bit awkward and childish.

::

They walked through the corridors aimlessly, uncomfortable silence reigning over them for the first few minutes. Seamus was sure he saw a flash of red curls hiding behind plump 15th-century noblewizards arguing in their frame about whether or not the earth was flat or round, and he made a mental note to find Mo this weekend and ask her about spying around for him.

"Seamus," Ginny started suddenly as they rounded a corner onto another empty hallway, "I'm sorry. I don't know why I was so angry with you."

He shrugged good-naturedly. "Well, I was in the infirmary for most of it, so no hard feelings."

"I know. I just didn't mean to… cheapen your friendship with Dean."

He thought about this for a second. Was that really what she'd done? No, he concluded. Not on purpose, anyway, not in any way that counted. "It's all right," he said quietly. "I know it's hard for people to understand our relationship."

It went deeper than friendship, closer to brotherhood. Hell, even their mothers had become close friends because of them. And Dean's father was the closest thing to one Seamus had anymore, ever since… well, since the summer before fifth year.

Ginny huffed something like laughter. "I was always jealous of you, you know that? Last year, with Dean. He just, you know, thought about you constantly. It was always 'Oh, Seamus would love this' and 'Seamus once did this' and 'Seamus and I'… Always knew he loved you in a way that he'd never love me, or any girl, for that matter."

That hurt in a way she could not have anticipated; he knew she was just trying to make him feel better, but her words twisted something deep in his chest. He felt it in his throat, a hard, bitter lump.

"Funny, that," he said, but without a hint of humour. His face twisted in a grimace that he'd intended to be a smile – he couldn't find the energy to fix it. "I was jealous of you."

"Oh, Seamus…"

"Ah, for fuck's sake, I don't want your pity. I _know_ he's straight. Painfully straight. Feels stupid anyway, talking about this while he's, _they're_ , you know, out there. Wherever they are."

Ginny looked down at her slippered feet. "It's just so… _frustrating_. I wish I could do something to help them. I wish I knew where they are, or even what they're doing."

"I know. And I've only got Mam and Nana left at home, and Dean's as good as a brother, so if anything happens to him…"

"Yeah. It doesn't get any easier the more people there are in your family, trust me." Her words, though they could have held a bitter, defensive edge, did not, and rang out desolately in the empty corridor.

Seamus stopped suddenly, and Ginny jerked back to look at him. He ran his hand through his hair in a display of agitation. "Oh _fuck_ , Sullivan!" Clenching his fist, he swore again, this time in Irish.

She widened her eyes in amusement. "Your owl? Neville sent him home, after. Took a crap right there on Gryffindor table though, and he pecked at my toast." She laughed outright, a lovely, trilling sound he hadn't expected to hear tonight. Relieved, he began to walk again. The air in the castle was chilly; the snow from the other day had melted, but Seamus could _taste_ it in the air, he could feel it coming in his mariner's bones.

"Thank God. Yeah, sorry about that, he's an asshole," he said, smiling. "Bane of my mother's existence, that bloody bird."

They walked on without speaking for a few minutes, comfortably. Ginny, despite her relationships with Seamus' dormmates and all the time she'd spent around him, had never figured a big part in his life, and if he were to admit it, he'd say that he had only begun to consider a real friend this year. She had a dry sense of humour that could compete nicely with Harry's and stand up to the twins' own more obnoxious brand. Neville counted on her, maybe more than she knew, to hold him up when his confidence waned, and Jesus, she was a terror with a jinx and a genius on a broomstick.

"Ginny—"

"Seamus—"

They tittered softly as they spoke together. "You go," Seamus said.

"I just wanted to say that… Really, I'm glad Dean is all right. I miss him too, you know."

"Ah. Dunno if he's all right, but he's alive, so that's something." He looked up at the paintings, snoozing in their frames. He remembered Dean at eleven, grabbing hold of Seamus' arm dragging him down every corridor they could manage, to look at all the works of art, and to talk to their occupants, still amazed at the magic surrounding them all. Seamus had been more interested in flying lessons and meeting as many students as he could, determined to speak to pretty girls and make new friends. Dean had followed him in those excursions too, when Seamus had gone to sit with different Gryffindors and Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs in the Great Hall at meal times (and even Slytherin once, though that hadn't gone too well) or in the library.

"What were you going to say?" Ginny said, startling him out of his melancholic reminiscing.

He stopped his walking to stare at an image of a small dory tilting dangerously on a tempestuous and grey ocean, the waves lapping against the frame violently. Dean would know what style it was, what approximate year it was painted, the kind of paint used, how many spells were cast to make it move… Seamus just wished he could smell the salt.

"I wanted to ask _you_ if you were all right." He touched her shoulder as she looked on to the image too. A storm that would never be quelled, a dinghy that would never reach the shore. Crossing her arms tightly – the air was sharp, and her skin was covered in gooseflesh – Ginny sighed.

"If we're being honest, not really."

He decided against pressing for details. She would share them when she wanted to.

The little wooden dory nearly went under as a particularly large wave crashed into its side, though Seamus supposed it would never really sink, and it had been bobbing up and down on the same angry, spitting sea for hundreds of years. Turning his searching gaze to the woman beside him (for she was a woman now, you can't be a soldier training for war and still be just a girl), he saw tears glittering in her normally bright brown eyes.

"Gin—"

She turned and kissed him in one rapid movement, right on the mouth, and it was warm and soft and tasted like the ocean he missed so much. He didn't deepen the kiss, and neither did she; they left it as is, open-mouthed and _soothing._ Her hands twisted behind his neck and he pulled away, thumbing the tears on her freckled cheek.

She buried her face in his neck, hugging him tightly, and he knew then that he understood.

"Let's go back," he murmured into her hair after some time – minutes, hours, it didn't matter.

With his arm tightly around her shoulders they made their slow way back to the common room, talking softly about the castle's gossip, last night's training, Hannah and Neville's budding relationship. She explained to him her ideas for spells that would perform well on brooms, and he in turn told her what Dean had meant in his letter about magic not working properly in the Ireland countryside, where centuries of ancient natural magic was weaved into the fabric of the place so tightly it barely left room for anything else.

They were so deep in discussion that they didn't notice at first someone's rapid, clicking footsteps behind them, and when they did finally realize, turning quickly to find the source, it was too late.

"Well, well, well," said Pansy Parkinson, "if it isn't Hogwarts' resident fire-breather. Just the man I was looking for."


	12. Pain

Fiew! Sorry it's been a bit longer than usual, I've just been buried in work. I'm actually avoiding homework right now.

This chapter was more difficult to write than the others, but I like it, if I do say so myself.

Warning: there's torture.

* * *

"Well, well, well," said Pansy Parkinson, her face partially bathed in a moonbeam that was far too delicate for her, "if it isn't Hogwarts' resident fire-breather. Just the man I was looking for."

She looked almost skeletal in the light, and Seamus felt a chill in his bones that had nothing to do with the late November air. A small hand clasped his.

"What the fuck do you want, Parkinson? It's not curfew yet," Ginny called out. The prefect's dragonhide boots clicked against the worn-down stone floor as she approached.

"No," Parkinson said too lightly, "not for another, oh—" she looked down at her silver watch "—forty-five, forty-four, forty-three…"

Seamus squeezed Ginny's hand. "Go," he hissed as Parkinson continued her counting.

"But—"

" _Go_."

With a last clench of her hand, Ginny turned and ran to the Fat Lady, her red hair swaying behind her. For a brief moment, warm light flooded the corridor, and then the portrait swung shut, leaving Seamus alone with Parkinson. He pulled out his wand from his back pocket, clutching the smooth oak tightly.

"—five, four, three, two… One. Oh dear. It looks like you're out passed curfew, Finnigan. And you've got your wand out – you don't really think you're going to hex the Head Girl, do you?"

"What do you want?" He echoed Ginny, his jaw hard and his shoulders squared. He felt the now-familiar flare of anger simmering under his skin and flickering in his chest, but he focussed on the feel of the wood in his hand and breathed deeply. Control, Pomfrey had said. Control.

"Well, I think those transgressions deserve a detention, don't you? Now now, Finnigan, don't make this difficult. Boys?"

He hadn't heard them come up behind him – he didn't know who they even were – when suddenly strong, calloused hands wrenched his wand from his hand and pulled his hands roughly behind his back.

"The fuck—"

He heard Pansy yell _Stupefy!_ and all went dark.

::

Seamus had always liked fire, and fire had always liked him – a little too much, if you asked his professors. His father too had always been unnerved by the speed at which his son could spark up fires in the woods during camping excursions, and hadd never quite gotten over the time his little four-year-old Seamus had lit his newspaper on fire in his first display of childhood magic, in the midst of a tantrum about taking a bath (though maybe that had been less about the fire and more about the magic itself, which was unlike anything he'd ever witnessed or imagined, he'd told his son years later). In classes, it had been the running gag: what would Seamus burn up this time? Fred and George had taken bets on how often the boy would return to the tower with singed eyebrows and smoking holes in his robes. Dean had carefully hidden away his sketchbooks when Seamus was in a _mood_. Pomfrey had tutted and healed, and in his fifth year, after his father died and Seamus' emotions came out to play with the flames often, she'd even given him a tub of aloe-scented burn salve, just in case.

Fire held mystery – Seamus had spent hours sitting in front of the wood stove at home and the hearth in the common room, staring at the flickering red and orange and yellow and light that wasn't quite a colour but was more like pure energy. And fire held power, as he'd discovered only three days ago, incredible power, and danger, and warmth.

But this, this fire was not his to tame. It licked at his bones and crackled against his skin with ferocity, and it tore his flesh apart to settle in the sinews of his muscles and the follicles of his hair and the marrow of his bones and the space between his breaths. It fucking _hurt_ , unlike anything he'd ever experienced. It was like being ripped wide open to have his insides replaced with acid that burned through his lungs and his veins, and incinerated every disc in his spine, shredded each nerve ending in his fingers and toes. There was nothing left of him, no more Seamus John Finnigan, there was only fire and heat and _pain_.

He couldn't remember how it started – why was he burning? How long had this been happening? Where was he? Maybe, he thought, maybe this was hell. Maybe he'd died, and he'd committed to many sins to do it peacefully. Yes. That was it. He was burning in hell. There was no other way to explain it, because if he really was truly on fire like this he would have died by now, wouldn't he? It would have stopped, wouldn't it?

Is this what it felt like to be a phoenix? Would he rise from his own flesh-and-blood ashes after all this?

His eyes could not open, or if they did, they didn't see anything but red, as he'd lost control over his body when the burning had started, whenever that was. An eternity ago, probably. Distantly, he heard someone screaming, high-pitched and inhuman. Maybe it was another poor, lost corpse, burning along with him, but too far away for him to reach out to.

Then there was laughter.

Who would laugh in a place like this, this fucking hell? Well, Satan, probably, but no stories he'd ever heard had ever said that Satan was a woman, and that cackling was high-pitched and cloying and he felt he'd heard it before, though not quite like this, not with the roar of the flames licking his ears.

"How does it _feel_?" said the voice, and he could not answer, because he found his vocal chords were already occupied, and that the screaming he'd heard through the hiss and crackle of the fire was his.

The flames danced higher.

::

When the fire in his skin finally stopped and the screaming had ceased, the first thing Seamus heard was a steady and slow drip-drip-dripping of liquid somewhere behind him, an echoing sound that stabbed his consciousness awake with each drop. Strangely, his first thought was that he must have been moved here, in this damp, dank place, after being burned, because the fire was so white-hot and strong it would have evaporated all liquid.

Then, after the dripping, he began to feel, which he regretted. If before, his organs and skin and bones were being ripped away from his body, now they were being returned to him, forced inside with sharp flares of pain and ghosts of flames. He missed the numbness he felt back in that dark moment between fire and now.

Next, there was the taste of blood. Blood? It was on his tongue, no, it was _from_ his tongue, and it tasted metallic and unpleasant and thick.

And then, something cool and hard against his body – it felt _good_. Stone, he decided. Beneath his head and his arms. He was lying on the floor, he decided. Not a floor he was familiar with, granted, but a floor. And if he was lying on a floor then – yes, he opened his eyes (they were crusted with something, burnt flesh or salt from his tears, and he had to pry them open slowly), and there was a low ceiling. Stone, too. Grey. Solid-looking.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

He heard his own breath, which was stilted and harsh, and somewhere else, somewhere above him, another set of lungs breathed in and out, though it was a much smoother sound. Almost like a sigh with each intake of air.

"Water," he said to the person (assuming it was a person), and was surprised to find he did not cough up smoke. His voice was cracked and hoarse, barely audible. "Water," he tried again, though it wasn't much better.

Seamus thought, then, that dead people don't get thirsty, and concluded that he was alive, though he couldn't at all understand how.

The person at his feet began to _laugh_ , and it was a familiar, hateful sound.

Alecto Carrow, his brain remembered.

And he was – in the dungeons? After having been – burned alive? He painstakingly raised his arm to look at it, and the skin was intact, with not one scorch mark or trace of crisp flesh. No, it couldn't be. He'd felt the fire. He'd _been_ the fire.

"How did you like that?" her voice boomed, too loud for the small space. "That was just fifteen seconds, you know, and look at you." He felt something touch his leg – her boot – and it reverberated through his skull. "Look at how I broke you."

She was lying, of course, or else he was imagining it all. Because there had been flames, and it hadn't been for just fifteen seconds. There was no way – it had felt like ten years, not fifteen seconds.

"Should we Obliviate him?" another voice said – Amycus. It belonged to Amycus Carrow.

Seamus wanted to forget. He wanted to leave, and drink some water. He wanted to sleep and never wake up.

"No," Alecto said, and her greasy face appeared in Seamus' line of vision. She was peering down at him, a malicious sneer painting her mouth. "I want him to remember how it felt."

Amycus laughed.

"Water," Seamus croaked again, desperate to moisten his lips and clear his dusty, ash-filled lungs.

Amycus laughed harder.

"Here," the woman said. She threw something down at him, and it fell with a soft noise like a pencil hitting a floor. The thing – his wand? – settled a foot away from his outstretched hand. "Get your own water, you useless Gryffindor. I'm going to bed. And don't even _think_ about skipping class tomorrow, Finnigan."

With one final cackle, they left the dungeon, left him there on the cold stone floor, with one leg bent at an impossible angle, blood dripping down the side of his mouth, unable to muster the energy to move.

::

Once again, time began to slip away from Seamus as he lay in the catacomb-like room. There was no one to keep him company but himself and the painful, jerking twitches his muscles gave every once in a while, just when he thought they'd finally subsided. His leg, the one bent out a shape, had long since gone numb, which was almost a blessing, if he wasn't so worried he'd broken it and damaged the nerves in the process.

He desperately wished for Lavender.

He didn't know how long he'd been there, listening to the constant dripping down the mouldy dungeon walls, still hurting, when a new noise broke through the water's rhythm. A loud _crack!_ echoed throughout the room, like the sound of an Apparition, which was stupidly impossible, Merlin only knew how often Hermione had told them—

"Mr. Finnigan, sir?"

"Seamus!"

Of course, Hermione had neglected to mention that House Elves could Apparate anywhere, apparently, for there was certainly Dobby's voice, and that was most certainly Neville, who came into view as he rushed forward to kneel beside his friend.

"What?" Seamus gasped, though the sound was mostly air.

"Can you move at all?" asked Neville gently, placing his hand on Seamus' arm. A sharp sting shot through his body as it made contact.

The elf's face appeared above Seamus' too, his eyes wide, a multi-coloured hat bobbing on his head. His eyes were big and worried.

"Haven't tried much," Seamus breathed. Neville nodded and hooked his hands under Seamus' armpits.

"On three," he said. "One, two, three—"

He hoisted up the man – who immediately fell forward on his knees as blood rushed to his numbed leg. Seamus cried out in pain at the instant feeling of pins and needles stronger than any he'd felt before.

"Christ, okay, is anything broken?" Neville said. He'd jerked forward with Seamus, and was now holding his shoulders tightly. Dobby hovered nervously in front of Seamus, wringing his hands over and over.

"No, just – just hurts." He breathed in time with the dripping of water. In. Out. Fuck, it hurt. Everything hurt. His muscles ached like he'd been hit by the Knight Bus and he wanted to rip his leg off from the feeling in it. "Again," he said, his voice stronger this time.

"Okay, Dobby, can you Apparate us straight to the dorm? One, two, three—" This time Neville pulled up then immediately but his arm around Seamus' waist so the man could fully lean into him. Seamus would have been surprised at Neville's strength if he wasn't so busy trying to hold himself up.

"Fuck," he said, throwing his arm up on Neville's shoulders, "if you wanted to get this close to me you should have just said something." He winced when his bad leg touched the floor.

"Don't make me regret saving you," Neville said, smiling tightly. "Dobby?"

"Yes, sir!" Dobby reached out a hand and the room spun.

::

The light was blinding when they arrived with a crack directly in the middle of the dorm room. The world was tilting dangerously and Seamus' body hurt so much, he could do nothing else but fall forward from Neville's hold and retch onto the floor, his bile pink from the Sugar Quill he'd had earlier.

"Seamus!"

He looked up to see Lavender, Ginny and Hannah staring in shock as he heaved again and again, though there was nothing in his stomach to regurgitate. Aside from the Quill, he'd last eaten hours ago – though now it felt like days – in the infirmary with Madam Pomfrey.

"Thought you two were training," he said weakly, wiping away his mouth with a trembling hand. When he looked down again, the mess was gone.

"They finished training hours ago, Shay," Ginny said, her voice quiet in barely-disguised horror. "Thank you, Dobby, so much, but I think you should go now. You can't get caught missing." She turned to the elf, who immediately straightened into a comical salute.

"Yes, Mrs. Weasley, ma'am. Anything for Harry Potter's friends!" he squeaked, and disappeared with a final loud _crack!_

They helped Seamus settle into his bed quickly, and he was grateful for it. The tremors rippling in his body finally subsided, and his leg had almost regained all feeling. The pain was beginning to become a memory and he thought, for a second, that he'd almost imagined it, like he'd done with the fire again.

"Water?" he said once Neville had helped him take his shoes and trousers off. He was still agonizingly parched when Hannah returned with a glass of cold water, that she had to fill it up again three times before he was satisfied. It was the most delicious thing he'd every tasted.

Eventually, his head cleared and his breathing steadied. It had been hours ago – _hours_ – and still his heart beat rapidly, though it was slowly calming itself. His friends stood quietly around the bed, though Lavender was sat next to him to run her fingers through his hair.

"It was the Cruciatus," he said finally, with conviction. He knew now.

Lavender's hand stilled as he spoke and Ginny breathed in sharply, but Neville's jaw hardened and he was at Seamus' bedside in an instant.

"Seamus? What year is it? Do you know who I am?" His eyes were wild and frantic as he touched Seamus' leg. Seamus huffed and rolled his eyes – they all knew the symptoms of overexposure to the Cruciatus curse, but he probably would have noticed by now if he'd had any brain damage.

"Neville Algernon Longbottom, I've already flirted with you once tonight. I'm fine, they said it was only for fifteen seconds," Seamus said, though Neville did not look assuaged. "And it's 1997," he added.

"Well," Neville said, leaning back and sighing, "I suppose I shouldn't be surprised."

"No, I flirt with you every chance I get," said Seamus dryly. Lavender's hand resumed its petting, and he thought maybe if he hadn't been in his condition he would have merited himself a smack on the head. Ginny sighed in exasperation.

"Fifteen seconds? But you were down there for hours. It's nearly two. We were so worried when you didn't come back, we thought maybe they'd tied you up like Smith—"

"Fifteen seconds, and then they left me down there. How did you find me, anyway?" He eyed Neville curiously, who smiled for the first time.

"Funnily enough, a little girl in a painting told me. Said she was a friend of yours."

That startled a bark of laughter out of Seamus, and it rasped against his throat almost pleasantly.

"A friend? I've spoken to her once. And I hope you didn't call her—"

"A little girl? Yeah. Well, I won't do it again, that's for sure," Neville said, which cause another chuckle to bubble out of Seamus' mouth. "I saw her in a portrait downstairs and she yelled my name, told me where to find you. First thing I thought of was to call for Dobby. "

"Mo's been stalking me, apparently."

"I think she used the term 'supervising'. Oh, and Dobby gave me your wand, here." Neville pulled the oak wand out and placed in on the bedside table gently.

Ginny yawned from where she was leaning against a poster. "I think you should get some rest, Foxtail. All of us."

She, however, made no move to leave the room, and only flicked her wand to turn off the lights and dim the fire blazing in the stove, to then tuck herself into Harry's old bed. Hannah followed Neville, her hand grasped in his, and Lavender pulled Seamus' blanket onto her body.

"Is this all right?" she said, turning her body to his as he sunk into the mattress. It was like she knew before he did what he needed – to not be alone tonight, to not be left with only the memories of fire and pain and cruel laughter.

He wondered if Dean was alone, wherever he was.

"Yeah. It's all right."

His head touched the pillow, so soft and comforting after having laid on the damp dungeon floor all night, and he fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.


	13. Allies

Sorry for the super long wait, I've just been ridiculously busy. Hope this makes up for it!

* * *

Fully expecting to walk through Monday morning in a haze of fatigue and sharp flares of the pain he was still experiencing upon waking, Seamus was somewhat astonished when he stepped into the common room to more thunderous applause from almost the whole of Gryffindor house. Walking through the corridors with Neville and Lavender tight to his side, he realized that people were still fixated on the whole set-the-professors-on-fire thing, because by the time he arrived to his Muggle Studies class, he felt like he'd spoken to most of Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw, too, and his back was sore from the good-natured thumping he was receiving from everyone from the smallest yellow-scarved Hufflepuff to the much-stronger Terry Boot.

At breakfast, the Slytherins sat rigidly and silently, and if it hadn't been for the careful temperature-control charms all over the Great Hall, Seamus would have said that it felt a few degrees colder when he walked past their table to reach his. Actually, he'd said it anyway, and Neville had just laughed a little uncomfortably.

"Well, I see that they didn't damage your sense of the dramatic," he'd muttered, and Seamus hadn't known whether to feel amused or insulted, but had been saved from making the decision by Jack Sloper, who'd sidled up to them to congratulate Seamus.

It seemed, to Seamus' slight surprise, that Parkinson and the boys who'd incapacitated him last night hadn't known about the Cruciatus, and that the Carrows hadn't told anyone (save maybe Snape, who was as so often conspicuously absent at the head table). The news of his detention must have made its round as quickly as rumours always did in the castle because there were just as many inquiries as to his wellbeing as there were handshakes and wolf-whistles, but he hadn't yet heard the word _Cruciatus_ from anybody, and he suspected that the DA and his own house, at least, would have been much angrier than celebratory if they knew. As it was, it seemed only the few who were privy to the information were the five who'd spent the night last night, and Parvati, Luna and Anthony. Upon sitting down for breakfast, Parvati had immediately hugged him fiercely, whispering darkly, and when he'd met Luna and Anthony in the corridor, they were still deep in discussion, though Luna frowned heavily when she stopped to ask Seamus how he was, and Tony was uncharacteristically sober.

Spending an hour and fifteen minutes in Muggle Studies was, to say the least, a nerve-wracking and infuriating experience, but even as Alecto carried out her usual insults against Seamus, his family and all the other Muggles in the world, there was no mention of any Unforgivables. The five Gryffindors sat at the rear of the glass as usual, staring at the straight-back Slytherins in front of them, and Seamus didn't realize he had almost been holding his breath for the whole class until he finally rushed out, lightheaded and breathing deeply.

It was near the end of Transfiguration that he finally remembered with a jolt that he was supposed to meet with McGonagall to discuss the codes, and, stepping into her office with her behind him, he felt inadequately prepared. Well. Not like he could have done much to prepare anyway, he supposed, shrugging internally.

"We must make this quick, Finnigan, as I've got another meeting after this," she said brusquely, sitting down at her desk and wordlessly flicking her wand to drag a chair opposite her for Seamus. "I see you're out of the infirmary, none worse for wear," she began. If he didn't know better, he'd say her eyes were sparkling.

Actually, he did know better, and that's exactly what they were doing. He smiled as he took a seat.

"Oh, Madam Pomfrey patched me up as usual," he said, then frowned, remembering their strange conversation. "She said… that eventually I'd be able to… control it. The fire, I mean."

If McGonagall was surprised, she didn't show it, and her face remained impassive as always. "Hm." She seemed to be considering his words, her warning about rapidity seemingly forgotten. "Yes, she would remember… Mr Finnigan, you have never exactly been the poster-child for precision and control, but… well," she said, "it would take a lot of practice, something which I am sure you do not have the time for. You're taking six N.E.W.T.s, are you not?" She eyed him over steepled fingers.

"Yes, Professor. Maybe some day, then," Seamus said, adjusting his bag so it was tight against his lap. "I, er, finished the documents you gave me."

She nodded at him, seemingly asking him to continue. Seamus took a moment to consider his next words and wondered, not for the first time, when it was exactly that he'd begun thinking before speaking.

"I found them… intriguing. You don't know what was written in there, do you?"

"Ah," she said, slowly, "not exactly. But I have my suspicions, of course."

She did not seem as confused as he still felt over why Seamus, or even, why a student, had been chosen for this, and it somewhat quelled the uneasy feeling in his stomach he'd been feeling since he'd stepped foot in her office again. He decided not the press the issue – not yet, anyway. Maybe when this was all over he'd ask her, but for now, he felt like he could accept the trust placed upon him, adopt the role of the Order's unlikely code breaker.

"I assume, then," she continued, "that you've accepted to take on the task?"

He felt a bit startled, as if she was reading his thoughts, but McGonagall was McGonagall and had always been weirdly intuitive.

"Yes, ma'am." He didn't quite know what else to say, but he supposed it didn't matter, because she regarded him silently for a long, pregnant minute, because nodding imperceptibly and opening one of her desk drawers. She took out a large thick yellow envelope, like the kind his aunt Sheila had at the Muggle post office where she worked, and settled it in front of him without a word.

He took it and placed it in his bag gingerly, and if the document before had smelled of secrets, this one positively reeked of them.

"I assume you'll find further instructions inside," said McGonagall, shaking out her sleeve to glance at her watch, then looked pointedly at her student. He sensed their meeting was coming to an end, and rose without further prompting. She followed suit and they walked on to the corridor in silence.

"Professor McGonagall!" A harsh voice cut through their thoughtful quiet and Seamus jerked his head up to see Amycus Carrow, bearing down on them with a sneer painted on his doughy face. The corridor emptied itself of the students that were hanging about as they scurried away at the sound of his tone.

McGonagall stopped and raised herself up to full, impressive height, and Seamus stumbled to a rest behind her.

"Deputy Headmaster," she said in a professional way Seamus would never have been capable of.

"Can I ask what you were doing with Finnigan, here? I'll remind you," he said with a snarl as he approached, "that Alecto and I are in charge of discipline around here?"

Seamus felt the now-familiar anger simmer in his veins, though now it was laced with – with something, something else, and he closed his eyes to keep it from boiling over.

"I assure you," came Professor McGonagall's voice, full and more confident than Seamus felt, "that this student is not in need of discipline, though if the need arose, I'm sure I would remember to whom he should be brought."

Amycus laughed. The sound sent a rake of hot pain up his spine, and he forced himself to remember the drip, drip, drip of the drop of water, and the steady in, out, in, out of breathing.

"I'm sure you will. Good afternoon, Professor," Amycus said, and Seamus heard his footsteps fade away. Curiously, he didn't hear McGonagall's, and he slowly opened his eyes to find her still standing in front of him, though now she'd turned her body slightly to look at her student.

"Seamus? Is everything all right?" she said, though her tone was clipped, it was not unkind, and his heartbeat began to slow. He was suddenly immensely thankful the corridor was empty.

"I was just…" he began, but thought better of offering her a half-hearted attempt at an excuse. He drew a deep breath before continuing, and made himself look up at her eyes. "They Crucio'd me last night."

She made no move to look away, calmly staring at him, and if her jaw clenched, it was only for a second.

"I see," she said. The thin, almost hissing sound betrayed her veneer, and Seamus felt almost relieved at it. "Mr Finnigan, I'd like for you to join me in my afternoon meeting."

Seamus spluttered. What?

"What?"

She raised an eyebrow at his incredulous expression. "I believe you will find it interesting."

Was this mad woman ever going to stop with the mind games? Why was everyone intent on playing with Seamus recently? His mouth hung open in shock, and he couldn't seem to find a way to shut it.

She darted a glance around the corridor, and, satisfied that it was empty, bent closer to him. "Fourth floor, corridor by the painting of the dancing cat. The password is _fraochán_."

He reeled at her sudden use of his mother tongue, spoken with just a hint of an accent. "Bilberry, Professor?"

She nodded, the thin line of her mouth quirking up almost unnoticeably at one corner. "Bring Longbottom and Weasley. Go, now. Quickly."

He shook himself, eyes still impossibly wide. "Er, yes, all right, I'll, ah, see you soon."

With that, Minerva McGonagall turned and walked on, leaving Seamus gaping at her back, questions whirling about in his mind like the snow falling outside.

::

The cat, dressed in a violently fuschia tutu, admitted the panting students with a soft _mrow_ , and the canvas swung open to reveal a cozy living room, all squishy sofas and rich blue carpet and a blazing fire in a hearth. He'd never seen a professor's living quarters before, and he was sure this is where they were now. Along one wall was a tall bookshelf, and if Seamus had had time, he thought he would have been interested to read the books contained in it, because he had a sneaking suspicion he knew who lived here. As it was, however, he was distracted, first by Ginny pushing him roughly through the door, then by the other people who were already inside, talking in low voices that abruptly quieted once Seamus stepped in.

There was Professor McGonagall, of course, sitting in a tall straight-backed armchair, and then sat around a desk beside her was Flitwick, balanced atop pillows on a wooden stool, Trelawney, whom Seamus had maybe seen once or twice this year and who looked as insect-like than ever and Sprout, her round cheeks reddened. Professor Vector was sat on a low, soft-looking loveseat, looking entirely too stiff and sour for one sitting in such a comfortable position, and Madams Hooch was standing behind her, regarding the three students with barely-disguised curiosity. With a large orange cat tucked in her arms not unlike the one in the painting, Bathsheda Babbling sat on the hearth, and she caught Seamus' eye and winked, though her jaw was set and her expression was not one of mirth. Hagrid's girth took up the furthest corner, eyes twinkling, leaving Seamus to wonder how the man even fit through the portrait hole, though he supposed maybe magic could have helped with that.

" _Fáilte_! Welcome!" cried Babbling from her spot by the fire, startling both her cat, who ran out of her arms, and Neville, who jumped behind Seamus. "Please take a seat." She gestured at the empty sofa across from her on the other side of a beautiful dark-wooded coffee table, upon which sat a tea service and biscuits.

"We've much to discuss, hurry on now," McGonagall said when the students made no move to sit. They scrambled to obey her command, wide-eyed, Neville squirming uncomfortably under their professor's studying gazes.

"Er, hello," Ginny said, and Seamus was thankful that she spoke first because his throat suddenly felt too dry. "Where are we?"

"My home," Babbling said, looking up at them, her brogue comforting and familiar to Seamus, "do have some tea and biscuits."

Seamus swallowed the sawdust sitting in his airway. " _Go raibh maith agat_ ," he said softly, thanking her, though they did not touch the offering. Ginny smirked at him.

"Is this a resistance?" Neville suddenly blurted out, his face brightening red as soon as he did.

"You could say that," Sprout said from the desk. Flitwick nodded.

"What else could you say?" Ginny asked boldly, causing a few raised eyebrows around the room. Hagrid chuckled in his corner.

"Well, Miss Weasley, at first we just wanted a place to talk," said Hooch. Seamus' head turned to look at her, and she nodded when they made eye contact.

"Surely you understand, what with all the coming and going I've observed in Gryffindor Tower lately," McGonagall said, her gaze stern. Neville bowed his head.

"Sorry about that, Professor. It's just, everyone's a bit…" He didn't finish his sentence, no word possible to describe the atmosphere of the castle, but it garnered sympathetic nods anyway.

"Let's continue in our business, Minerva," said Vector suddenly, tapping her long, thin fingers against the fabric of her chair.

"Yes, thank you Septima. I've invited these three students here today because – as Mr Longbottom has succinctly said – they are part of a resistance. It is my understanding that you three are the leaders?" said McGonagall, and Seamus huffed in a semblance of laughter.

"They are, Ma'am, not me. I just help out," he said. "You could say I'm in charge of… communications."

"What else could you say?" countered Babbling, an echo of Ginny's question.

It was incredibly strange seeing his professors in this relaxed environment, especially Babbling, who, while normally warm and chatty with Seamus, seemed tiny and fragile sitting on the floor. He didn't like having to look down on her – but it didn't mean he felt like trusting her just yet. He just shrugged in answer to her question.

"We've got a strategist too," Ginny said when it was clear Seamus wasn't going to continue. "And a Healer. A group of them, actually."

Surprise was etched onto most professors' faces and they glanced around at each other.

"I didn't realize your group was so organized," Sinistra murmured. Seamus noticed that no one had yet spoken the words Dumbledore's Army, but it was clear they all knew about it. He supposed that was why the charm Michael had created had allowed them to speak.

"Yeh kids are so smart," Hagrid said, his loud voice booming across the room. He winked at them.

"A strategist? What are you planning?" Hooch crossed her arms, and suddenly Seamus was brought back to first-year flying lessons and trying to explain to Dean the wonders of flight, their teacher trying to shush their little boy giggles every few minutes.

Neville and Ginny looked at each other, then they both turned to Seamus, who raised his shoulders. As he'd said, he wasn't the leader here. They were.

Sitting straighter, Neville squared his shoulders and spoke.

"We know it's going to come to a battle at some point, sooner or later. We want to be ready, so we've been training and er, coming up with battle strategies. We've mostly been centering them around Hogwarts, because we know it best, but Ton – I mean, our strategist has been kicking about some ideas for Hogsmeade, and a few other likely places. Diagon Alley, Carkitt Market, King's Cross, the Forbidden Forest, you know."

Stunned silence. Seamus himself hadn't known this, but it didn't quite shock him as much as it seemed to with the professors. Anthony was thorough, and had a mind for strategy unlike any other, save maybe Ron and Padma at chess. Actually, he supposed maybe Padma had been helping him; they were close.

"How many of you are there?" Flitwick asked finally.

"Twenty-seven at last count, sir," Ginny said quickly. It had been twenty-eight before Smith. "All ages, though the majority are fifth-years and up."

"No," said McGonagall suddenly, leaning forward.

"No?" Ginny's voice was incredulous.

"No, I cannot allow you to integrate any underage student in your battle plans. Even you, Miss Weasley."

Seamus noticed that she didn't say anything about actually having battle plans, which was oddly reassuring, yet strangely terrifying.

"We've thought of that, Ma'am, we have," Neville said. "We've got contingency plans. Though… maybe you'd like to meet with him, our strategist I mean. We've been struggling with finding ways to evacuate the youngest students. But…"

Neville looked at Ginny, eyes wide and almost… desperate?

"But," Ginny continued, "there aren't that many seventh-years left at Hogwarts. In Gryffindor there are only five, only four of which who've been training, three who will fight. The other houses aren't much better. That's not… that's not enough. If it does come to a battle before the end of the year, we're going to need numbers."

McGonagall opened her mouth to retaliate, but Babbling cut her off.

"What makes you think there's going to be a battle?" Her thick brows knitted together in consternation.

"Well… nothing yet, I guess. A hunch, for now. But whether this war ends tomorrow or in five years, you can bet You-Know-Who's side isn't going to go down without a fight, and I don't fancy getting caught with our pants down," Neville said in a rush, then gulped. "Er, so to speak."

This answer seemed to satisfy those gathered, and Seamus felt a rush of pride for Neville, the shy boy with dirt perpetually under his fingernails and leaves in his hair, leading an army to war.

"Still no," McGonagall said sternly.

"Professor—" Ginny began, her cheeks colouring in the way they always did before she started a rant, but McGonagall raised a thin hand to silence her. To Seamus' astonishment, it worked, and Ginny's hard mouth fell slack.

"Mr Finnigan, please share what you told me earlier, in the corridor," said McGonagall, and Seamus' skin crawled with a ghost of fire, though it didn't hurt much now. It felt more like – like anger again, familiar and bordering just on the edge of too warm. And it may have been just his imagination, but for a second, he thought he saw the flames in the fireplace dance just a bit higher.

"Last night I was—" Ginny's hand touched Seamus' elbow as he spoke, hidden from the professors "—kidnapped, and taken to the dungeons, and—" Trelawney gasped, Hagrid yelped entirely too loudly and Flitwick squeaked "—Crucio'd. Not by students."

"We anticipated this," said Vector, coldly cutting off the rising muttering. Seamus idly wondered if she'd been a Slytherin in her time.

Ginny's hand stilled on Seamus' elbow and he felt her take in a breath. "Then why did you do nothing? If you knew? And for that matter, why did none of you do anything about Smith, when he was tied up?"

Neville hissed on her other side. "Ginny!"

"Miss Weasley, I trust you understand that we are worth more to you, and indeed, to this war, within the castle rather than outside of it. No, enough, Ginevra," McGonagall said sharply, raising her tone when it was clear Ginny had opened her mouth to offer a rebuttal. "We do many things to help you, though you may not always see it, and we hold your secrets, just as you hold ours. We are your allies here, not your enemies."

"What do you mean, outside of Hogwarts? Do you think they'd sack you?" Neville tilted his head.

"I believe they would do whatever they felt was necessary," she said. Gooseflesh appeared on Seamus' arms at the ambiguity of it all, at the truth. Then he remembered a story, something Lavender had told him at the beginning of the year. He'd thought it was smart, then, to flee and hide, but now, if, someone had deemed it necessary—

"Professor Burbage," he said suddenly, looking to McGonagall, but it was Babbling's response that told him all he needed to know.

" _Ar dheis Dé go raibh a hanam_ ," she murmured, her cat wrapping its fluffy tail around her as it rubbed up against her waist. "May her soul rest in peace."

For all the people in the room, silence weighed heavily on them for long minutes, until Neville shook himself and looked up from his feet.

"So, what now?"

"I believe each of us can do more to… help the cause," Sinistra said quietly, adjusting her vermillion pointy hat.

"And we continue to turn a blind eye to your activities," added Sprout.

Babbling stood to pick up the tea service.

"And we begin to see each other as equals," she said, and Seamus had never felt more like a soldier than he did then.

::

There was silence upon the three students' exit from the chambers, an unspoken agreement to say nothing until they had returned safely to the tower. They stumbled out of the portrait hole, though Seamus wasn't sure if they were hitting each other because of the close proximity or because they needed the reassurance touch could afford them. The professors had stayed behind after Hooch had agreed to meet Ginny at some point over the weekend and Neville had told McGonagall he would go see her with Anthony. He felt it, that things were falling into place, terrifying things in terrifying places, and it was with equal parts comfort and anxiety that Seamus stepped into the corridor, breathing deeply. The portrait swung shut with the cat's screech, and they turned to walk away until –

"Hey! Seamus John!"

He knew that voice, the raspy yet high-pitched voice whose owner was sitting atop the cat's ballet bar, swinging her legs as she smiled brightly.

"Mo," he said simply, waving at Neville and Ginny to go on. Neville snickered but left anything, clapping Seamus on the back as he did so.

"What, I don't get a _hello_? I've missed you? Thank you for saving my life, I am indebted to you forever?" Mo said, tossing her mane of red curls behind her back.

"I've been pining," Seamus said, crossing his arms lightly, hoping that the professors would stay in the quarters for the time being and that nobody felt the need to walk through that particular corridor.

"As you should!" Mo jumped down for the bar and turned to the cat, who was sulking in the corner, as a cat was wont to do, though it seemed the tutu was impeding its grooming. "He's just mad that I'm a better dancer than he is." She pointed her thumb at the feline, who shot her a look of the purest disdain.

"Of course. You've been watching me."

She mirrored his pose, arms across her chest, hip jutted out like a teenager with attitude. Appropriate, considering.

"Chaperoning," she corrected. "Aren't you grateful?"

"Very," he said, and it was barely sarcasm.

"These are exciting times, you know, and you're an interesting person, though you could do with a haircut. All those secrets, clandestine meetings with a handsome Italian, torture… Exciting! Do you think I should get a haircut?

"You're a portrait."

She sighed. "Thank you, I hadn't realized. The dungeons used to be fun, you know. Historically, Slytherins have been much more interesting to watch than the rest of you lot, though I've seen some good fist fights in Gryffindor Tower. Now the little snakes are so quiet, no one speaks to each other, and the Hufflepuffs are getting into politics! Imagine that."

Seamus narrowed his eyes. "You live in the dungeons?"

"No no, by the Arithmancy classroom. Dull as watching beige paint dry, let me tell you." She huffed and went to sit on a bench in the corner of the painting, the cat mewling as it tracked her with its green eyes.

"You like observing, then?" He shifted from foot to foot, still darting glances he hoped looked casual around the corridor.

"Oh! Are you going to ask me to spy for you too?" She bounced up, cape fluttering behind her, clapping her hands excitedly. Seamus stepped closer.

"Keep your voice down, you eejit! I just want you to let me know what's going on in the castle every once in a while. Maybe talk to some other portraits, ones you trust, see what they can find out."

"This is exciting! Wait, what about payment? No, no, you're right, you wouldn't have enough money to pay me what I deserve. I guess I'll just have to settle for your eternal gratitude and admiration. I'll do it for free."

Seamus decided against pointing out, once again, that she was made of paint and canvas, not of flesh and blood, and that galleons would be as useless to her as a haircut or a loo.

"Thank you, Mo."

"Look at you, learning your manners. I knew I'd get through to you eventually," she said, skipping over to the oversized cat, who hissed. She giggled.

Terrifying things in terrifying places.


	14. Meeting

The Great Hall was alive with chatter and laughter that night, the liveliest it had been in at least a month, thanks to the promise of Honeyduke's and butterbeer for most the next day, and Seamus let himself be caught up in the excitement even though he'd decided earlier to stay back in order to work on decoding the reports. He sat himself between Lavender and Luna, who was talking animatedly with Neville across the table about bees and the plants they prefer, and when he kissed first her cheek then Lavender's in greeting, she only smiled and continued talking.

"Oh, Seamus, stop it, I'm blushing," Lavender said, handing him a mug of something hot and spicy. He sipped it carefully and was delighted to taste his favourite spiced cider, the first time he'd seen it this school year. Wednesday marked the beginning of December, and a soft snow had covered the castle most mornings this past week, and the drink tasted like Christmas.

"That's not what you said last night," he quipped easily and began filling a bowl with a thick beef stew.

"No, what I think I said was 'budge up, you're hogging the blankets, you tosser'."

"I am not a blanket stealer! Besides, they're my blankets, so I think you're the real thief here. If you don't like it, you can go sleep with Neville."

Neville smiled slyly. "No thank you, you may steal blankets but Lavender snores."

"Augh!" Lavender cried, picking up a carrot and throwing it at him. "I do not! And anyway, I have a cold!"

"A cold, huh? Some Healer you are," Seamus said with a snort. "Ever hear of a thing called Pepper-Up Potion?"

"Ah, the miracles of modern wizarding medicine!" Anthony plopped onto the bench next to Neville and immediately helped himself to Seamus' mug of cider. "Mmm, I smelled this stuff when I walked in. Bless those elves."

"I poisoned that, you know," Seamus said, quite disgruntled. Anthony just raised the glass in a mock toast.

"Cheers!" He began spluttering as soon as he took a gulp, coughing and hacking and grimacing. "Ack. Went down the wrong hole."

Lavender laughed merrily. "What is it that Muggles say, again? Seamus? Something with a _C_?"

"A _K_. Karma's a bitch, Tony."

"So are you," Anthony said without any real feeling, busying himself with filling up a bowl and buttering a roll.

The lightness permeating throughout the Great Hall was a nice change from the austere atmosphere that had reigned over the past week, and Seamus dug into his meal with more appetite than he could remember having in a while, listening to Anthony talk Quidditch with Neville and Ginny and Luna tell Lavender about a strange gurdyroot-tea-and-crazyberry concoction that would help her with her "cold". It was almost to forget, for just a moment, the war raging around them and the empty seats dotted throughout the tables where Muggle-borns used to sit, where Dean used to sit. In a pique of inspiration, Seamus asked Lavender for the castle gossip, who obliged enthusiastically, and he resolved to ask her and Parvati more often as to add to his new tally of the goings-on within Hogwarts. Her anecdotes weren't particularly helpful, but he knew sometimes useful details could be hidden in even the most inane of rumours and stories, so he filed all the information away for later.

"Seamus," came Michael's soft voice from behind him as he finished his meal, "can I have a word with you?" Michael was tall, almost as tall as Dean, all gangly awkward limbs he hadn't yet grown into, and warm yet more often than not guarded brown eyes that crinkled a bit when he smiled down at Seamus. He had a quiet sort of intelligence, though somewhat intimidating what will all the planners, notebooks and to-do lists, and it was no less extraordinary than Hermione's or Padma's. He was good to have around, and reliable, but to say that Seamus _knew_ him very well would have been a lie.

"Of course, I was just finishing." Seamus pushed away his bowl and downed the last of his cider as Anthony saluted him. Michael shortened his steps so Seamus could follow him easily out of the Hall and into the corridors which were, as so often lately, sparse with students or ghosts. The small alcove they turned into used to be a favourite for handsy couples as it was hidden from view of the main corridors but close enough to the principal staircases that it was an easy place to meet. Seamus himself had used it on occasion, with Justin and Lisa Turpin once in fifth year, and now, though there was no dust on the seat – the elves would have taken care of that – Seamus smelled the musty sort of scent that indicated that no one had used the space in a while.

"What can I do for you?" he asked.

"I found that spell you asked for," Michael said, taking a piece of parchment out of his bag. "It _was_ Italian, like you said. Wasn't even in the Restricted Section or anything, though I had to do a bit of translation."

"Oh!" Seamus had forgotten all about Zabini's clover spell. He took the parchment and saw neat step-by-step instructions in Michael's precise handwriting. "This is great, Mike, thank you."

"It's not very difficult, but Padma and I tried it and it only worked half the time. I think it may have to do with the translation, though I couldn't find an error when I checked it over."

"Well, it's worth a try. It might just be a fiddly charm, I'm sure your translation was all right. Thanks again, I owe you one." Seamus shook Michael's hand enthusiastically and his fingers tingled with the urge to try it out, though it would have to wait until tomorrow. "Really. I appreciate it."

"Anytime, Seamus. I'd, ah, like to pick your brain for Runes this weekend, if you don't mind. I'm having a bit of trouble with the Brightwood Texts, you know that third passage?"

"Yeah. Yeah, they're tricky. We did those last week. How about Sunday? Library?"

"Perfect. We'll call it even."

::

The classroom Parvati had found for their first squadron meeting was long ago abandoned by all but the house elves, though even they didn't seem to visit often, as Seamus spotted a bat hanging upside in the rafters, sleeping rather peacefully, unaware of the students talking down below. Most of the other groups had already met, but with Seamus in the infirmary then in detention, it had been impossible before now. The room was smaller than most other classrooms, probably part of the reason why it had been left to gather dust and bats, and the six students sat on rickety old desks they'd pushed together to form a haphazard circle.

He didn't quite know where to begin, but they were all looking at him in expectation, so he cleared his throat and readjusted himself on the desk.

"Right. Well, why don't we start a by talking a bit about ourselves? I know some of us already know each other but… It's as good a place to start as any, yeah?" They all nodded and Seamus smiled. "Okay, how about we say our year, our best subjects, our hobbies, our strengths and weaknesses, and… what we want to do after Hogwarts?" He got out a small notebook and a quill from his bag to write it all down.

"That's good, Foxtail. I think we should practice using our codenames too, what do you think? Yeah? Okay, I'll start." Parvati patted his leg. "I'm Parvati, I'm in seventh year. I like Divination and Astronomy the best, and if I had spare time I'd spend it doing yoga with my sister Padma and playing the piano. I'd ah, like to be a teacher. Not a professor at Hogwarts, but maybe in a school for wizards and witches before Hogwarts. I think one of my weaknesses is that my magic isn't very strong, physically."

"And your strengths?" Seamus prompted her.

"I think my endurance is quite high. Padma and I practiced duelling a bit this summer, and she always got tired before me."

"You're also good at predicting what others are going to do before they do it," Leanne Cooper pointed out, and Parvati ducked her head but said nothing. "My name is Leanne, I'm in seventh year too. I think I'm quite good at Defense, though no thanks to Carrow, of course." They all winced, and the sharing continued for the better part of an hour. Leanne's strengths were shield charms, as were Jack Sloper's, along with agility. Her weakness, a bad memory. Unsurprisingly for a Beater, Jimmy Peakes thought he was best at brute strength and aim, though he said he couldn't run very fast, and his dearest ambition was to build houses for a living.

Su Li, who was quiet and spoke with short, succinct sentences, said her hobbies were, in fact, running and weight-training and broom-racing. When Sloper asked in amazed why she had never played for the Ravenclaw Quidditch team, she'd shrugged and said "I don't like team sports," which counted as both an explanation and her weakness. Seamus was startled when his turn finally came; he felt unprepared.

"Oh. Er. Right, well you all know me, I'm Seamus, I'm in my seventh year… And it might not be useful for battle but I like Ancient Runes and I'm not horrible at Transfiguration."

"He used to be _awful_ at Charms," Parvati added with a giggle and a hand-gesture indicating an explosion.

"Ta, Ruby, just undermine my competence, why don't you? Anyway, I'm still taking the NEWT, aren't I? What's next? Right. After Hogwarts, I'd like to… be a cursebreaker, I think. Mostly I'd like to survive this year first."

"Morbid," Su said dryly.

"When I'm home I like being outdoors, hiking, fishing, that kind of stuff. I think one of my strengths, in a duel I mean, is that I'm not afraid of taking risks and making decisions quickly, but I also often let my emotions, er, get the best of me. I'm not very good at controlling my magic then. Well. You all saw that."

Parvati mimed another explosion and Jimmy snickered.

"That was so cool," Jack said, "you've gotta teach us how to do that."

"I don't think it can be taught. I don't know how to do it again either, or if I even want to."

"Useful, though, if you could control it," Leanne said, a strange, unwitting echo of Pomfrey and McGonagall.

" _If_ being the operative word, here. All right. Homework. Su, I'd like you to make us each individual physical training schedules, if you can manage it, focussing on what we're weakest at and improving what we're good at. Parvati, yoga. Teach us to do yoga."

"Yoga!" Jack cried. "Why?"

"You heard her, Stout. Endurance."

"And to relax – we're under a lot of stress, you know. Mercury's in retrograde on top of it all," Parvati added and Seamus grinned.

"Right. You two—" he indicated the two other boys "—just for fun, start practicing silent and wandless magic. I think Lavender could help you with that. And Leanne? Make a list of as many offensive and defensive spells you can think of and what they do, then get someone to quiz you on them until your memory improves. Sound good? I'll consult with Tony, see if he can't think of battle formations and training exercises we could do together."

He closed his notebook shut decidedly.

"I'll send out a message about the yoga session on the coins, but it'll probably be Monday night," Parvati said, jumping down from her desk and dusting off her robes. "Bring your friends."

::

"Dementors," Seamus repeated, his voice deadened and his shoulders sagging under the weight of the word.

"And Death Eaters," Zabini said, his normally controlled lip almost curling into a sneer. It was their third meeting now – Mo had found Seamus not long after the Revenge of the Phoenix meeting – and Seamus was surprised at how he was able to detect the slight changes of Zabini's face and demeanour now, things he would not have noticed during their first, things like a slight sneer and dark circles under brown eyes and a less than ramrod-straight back.

Seamus passed a tired hand over his face. "When?"

"The Death Eaters, next week. Thursday, I believe. The Dementors, only after the holidays."

"Happy Christmas," Seamus grumbled.

"Most of Umbridge's Educational Decrees will be in effect once more, I've been told."

Seamus only just withheld the violent curse words that burned his tongue. Fucking Umbridge. "They're going to start checking owls and bags and wands again?"

The Slytherin sat across from him raised an eyebrow. "I believe that is the least of your worries, Finnigan."

"Don't tell me what my fucking worries are," he snapped, frustrated with the idea of Umbridge still holding power over the school, though to his amazement, Zabini actually grinned, though it was gone in a second and could have almost been Seamus' imagination if not for the unnerving twinkle in the other boy's eyes. Without another word, Zabini pushed himself away from the table and turned to go, and Seamus saw Dobby's floppy ears appear from behind a shelf in the corner of his eye.

"Goodnight, Finnigan," called Zabini suddenly before he disappeared into the basement, leaving Seamus to shake his head in bemusement and, most of all, irritation. It had been a long, long day – his meeting with McGonagall and the other professors seemed so far away now – and all he wanted to do was crawl into his bed and sleep off the last effects of the Cruciatus, though it was eight floors up and he had one more thing – elf – to attend to.

"Dobby?" he said and the elf skittered over, eyes wide as ever.

"Would Mr Finnigan like to hear Dobby's report now, sir?"

"Go on, Dobby, and you know you don't have to call me sir." Seamus' voice was beginning to go hoarse with fatigue and he swallowed a yawn. "Just Seamus is fine."

"Oh, Mr Seamus Finnigan, sir, you are too kind, like Harry Potter!" The elf bobbed in excitement and his comically large multi-coloured socks slid up and down his legs with his movements.

"Yeah, I'm just like Harry," he muttered and Dobby's answering grin nearly split his face in two. "Tell me about Zabini, then."

"Mr Zabini studies a lot, and does not speak to many people. Dobby thinks maybe Mr Zabini had a row with the other boys in his dormitory because they do not speak at all."

"At all? Not even Malfoy?"

"Especially not Mr Malfoy, sir. Dobby has only seen Mr Zabini speak to the youngest Miss Greengrass in the past week."

Seamus frowned and applied this new knowledge to what he himself had observed in the past few weeks; Zabini sitting apart from the others in the Great Hall, with Astoria Greengrass at his side, doing nothing but eating and staring at the others with hawk-like gazes and delicate sneers. And then he remembered literally running into Zabini and Parkinson, what was it now, two, maybe three weeks ago? Time had felt so fluid lately, like it was slipping through his fingers when he wasn't looking, and then we he was, freezing up like stone and bricks and other immovable things.

"What about Pansy Parkinson? Does he talk to her at all?"

"Oh, no, Miss Parkinson is most mean to Mr Zabini."

He deepened his scowl then just resolved to analyse the situation further later. It was late, too late for someone who hadn't had much sleep at all in the past month, and he was feeling the weight of it heavy on his eyelids and harsh in his raspy throat.

"All right, all right. What about Malfoy, then? What's he up to?"

Dobby bit his lip. "Dobby does not think that Mr Malfoy spends many nights in his dormitory."

"What?" Seamus yelped. He felt his tired eyes widen. "Where does he spend them?

"Dobby does not know for sure, Mr Finnigan, but he has observed Mr Malfoy entering Headmaster Snape's office three nights this week and leaving early in the morning."

His mind quickly ran through the possibilities and finally settled on the least disturbing and most probable: the Floo. Seamus knew that every fireplace in the castle had been shut down for everything but actual fires at the beginning of the year – he knew because he'd tried to Floo-call his mother back in September with some powder he'd taken from home and had been bounced back immediately – but it was entirely possible the professors still had theirs connected to the Floo Network, or at least Snape's was.

"What's in there? The Floo?" he asked, just to make sure. Dirty-minded as he was, he could think of another possibility, but it was to fucked up for him to consider seriously. Wasn't it?

Dobby's wrung his hands together in what Seamus recognized as a nervous tic. "Dobby does not know, sir, the elves are not allowed in Headmaster Snape's office and quarters."

Seamus gaped. Today was a day of revelations and more questions than answers. The professors, Zabini's news of Dementors and Death Eaters, and now this? This was maybe the most shocking thing he'd heard all day.

"Wow." He didn't know what else to say. "Wow. Okay. Have you got anything else for me?" he asked, almost dreading the answer.

"No, sir, but Dobby will keep spying on the Slytherins. Dobby is very happy to be helping Mr Finnigan and Harry Potter!" The elf smiled and Seamus felt his own lips quirk upwards wearily.

"Thank you, Dobby. You've been a great help. Really."

::

His return to the tower was thankfully uneventful, though he thought that might have just been blind luck because in his exhaustion and preoccupation, he was sure he hadn't been as careful as he should have been. His mind was full of questions and puzzles, but he felt things beginning to connect, his network starting to form, an image of the castle and its happenings becoming clearer with each soft step through the dark corridors. Things were occurring – terrifying, confusing things – but people (and elves and paintings) were rallying to help behind closed doors, and Seamus felt it all at the tip of his fingers, in the calloused skin of his palm, in the package of coded reports hidden deep in his trunk under his bed.

He wasn't surprised to find Lavender, Ginny and Parvati sleeping in Seamus and Harry's beds, and he barely hesitated before pulling off his shirt and jeans and slipping into Dean's painfully empty one. If he closed his eyes and breathed in deeply, he could almost pretend it still smelled like him.


	15. Skin

What pushed Neville and Lavender out the door toward Hogsmeade without Seamus was a feigned headache, a couple well-placed expletives, the promise of a chess match later, and finally, after more than fifteen minutes of arguing, a doleful plea: "Look, it just doesn't feel right going without Dean. Please, I'd rather be alone." It wasn't even a lie; he knew that the shops would be putting out their holiday decorations for the students' benefit, playing Sonorous-amplified and too-cheerful carols, and ever since third year, Dean and Seamus had done their Christmas shopping together on the last town weekend. Even last year, when Dean had been spending most of his spare time with Ginny and Seamus with Justin, they'd set aside their morning for it.

Lavender had softened instantly, hugged him tightly and kissed him on the cheek. Neville had said, looking anywhere but in Seamus' eyes, "Well, all right. But we'll bring you back something from Honeyduke's."

He couldn't afford thoughts about Dean today, not when he had work to do, so he determinedly thought very hard about the codes and ciphers he'd need to use on his way down to the kitchens. He gathered enough food to feed four people, the elves twitching about nervously as he stood waiting, and then made his way back to his dormitory to begin. He would have liked to spread out his work on a table in the library or the common room or even the Great Hall, but couldn't risk anyone accidentally reading the reports, so his bed it was.

The reports were difficult to translate and, much to his dismay, even more confusing when he finally succeeded decoding a full one, an hour and a half after beginning. The codes were one thing – but the report itself had others embedded in it, names changed into obvious codenames like the DA had, abbreviations, strangely formulated sentences that probably made sense to the intended reader but not to him. What he gleaned from that first report was meagre, but he guessed it had something to do with Quidditch and someone who had been taken from a pitch. Unless the sports-related terms were codes themselves. He couldn't tell. The next two reports, though all written in different handwriting, were much the same: vague, ambiguous, and uninformative – to Seamus, at least.

He ate an elf-made bacon sandwich and read and wrote until his quill snapped, at which point he rummaged through his trunk to find another. The black feathers on the one he found were stuck together and bent at odd angles, as if it had been there a while, and yes, it had; its nib was bitten and misshapen, an unfortunate habit of Dean's that had been the subject of jokes and the cause of an ink-stained mouth often.

Seamus stared at it. It felt heavy in his hand, even though he knew that was impossible – it was just a quill. A small, old, cheap quill. Dean's.

He was everywhere today, just not where it mattered.

Again, like too often, Seamus pushed those thoughts away – they would get him nowhere – and kept on, his mind whirling through codes and puzzles and ciphers. It was difficult and _thrilling_. Finally, nearing on four, he was satisfied, and though they made no sense to him, he sealed them quickly in an envelope transfigured from a piece of parchment, marked it with an _X_ and cast Zabini's spell on it. Carefully, resisting the urge to cross his fingers and knock on wood and pray to the fairies in the woods, he tried to rip it. He tried to open it. He held it up to the fire in the stove in the middle of the room. It held. It _held_.

Was this how Chasers felt when a Quaffle they threw fell through a hoop, or Keepers when they caught one before that fall? Seamus felt triumphant – he jumped up and did a little jig, suddenly restless and full of energy, grinning wide. He had _done_ it, written up all the reports, helped the Order, contributed to the war. Maybe even McGonagall proud. He felt laughter bubbling to the surface. A run would do him good, he decided. Fresh air. Sun. Movement. He pulled on his rattiest sweats and all but jogged down through Hogwarts and out onto the Quidditch pitch, humming a wordless tune to himself the whole time.

There was a thin layer of glittering snow covering the ground when he reached it and began stretching, pristine and untouched, like it had been for most of the year, minus the snow. It felt private – his to imprint – and the air was crisp in his lungs and smelled clean with a bit of smoke from Hagrid's cabin. With a pang, he thought of the Dementors that would make their way to the castle after the holidays, and decided that this is how he wanted to remember it: untouched, mostly untainted, with pockets of still intimacy hidden in its grandeur. He did five laps around the pitch, until his chest began to burn from the air and his legs from the exercise, and he didn't once feel like he was running from anything.

::

All twenty-seven members of the DA were reconvened once more in the Room of Requirement for their Tuesday night meeting and study session. Seamus had sensed some nervousness emanating from Neville since Saturday, even before he'd told Ginny, Neville and Anthony about Zabini's news, but looking at the man now, standing squarely in front of his army, he seemed to have almost made his peace with whatever it was that was irking him. They went through their regular agenda, led by Ginny: news and updates, then they went down the list of who had sessions with the Carrows in the next. At Seamus' insistence, Neville had delivered the information about the Death Eaters and the Dementors – he didn't want rumours to start, though Sloper and a few others wanted to know the source.

"It doesn't matter who the source is," Ginny said sharply, and Sloper stuck his chin out defiantly. "What matters is we know about it, and tomorrow night we start on the Patronus."

Jack caught Seamus' eyes and rolled them, but Seamus only shook his head then gestured with it toward Neville. God, he was going to have his work cut out for him if the kid was going to be like this all year.

"Thanks, Ginny. Now, one last thing before we get to our studies," Neville said, clasping his hands together. "I'm going to ask a few of you to meet with me, Ginny and Tony after this for a mission tomorrow night—" whispers erupted "—and the rest of you, I need you to stay our of the corridors tomorrow night after training. Understood?"

"Not really," Jimmy Peakes said, crossing his arms. "What do you mean, mission?"

"Yeah," Jack Sloper said. "I don't like all these secrets."

Leanne Cooper elbowed him in the ribs and he winced.

"You'll find out Thursday. Until then, this is strictly need to know," Ginny said, her voice rising above the others.

"All we can say right now is that the Carrows won't like it," Neville added, and Jimmy and Jack leaned back in their seats cautiously.

Seamus himself was confused – Neville hadn't said a word to him about any mission. In fact, he wasn't even aware that the DA was going to be running any missions, or what they could possibly entail. Though he thought about Anthony wanted to play smart; maybe this is what he'd meant.

"So I'm going to need Parvati, Seamus and Terry with me, then Lavender, Susan and Padma with Ginny, and finally Luna, Ernie, Su and Ritchie with Tony. Got it?"

"Me?" Susan asked in a small voice, her eyes wide.

"You'll see," said Ginny gently. "All right everyone. Get to your homework. We don't want to give the Carrows any excuse to give us detention."

Grumbling quietly, the students began to get to their feet while Seamus and the others called out gravitated toward the front.

"One sec," Neville said once they all stood around him, holding up one finger. He closed his eyes tightly as if screwed up in concentration.

 _Pop!_

Three doors appeared along the wall behind the rolling blackboard and Neville grinned widely. "I've been practicing," he said, rather proudly, and Seamus felt his mouth quirk in answer as he followed his friend into one of the rooms, Parvati and Terry at his back.

::

The room was small and bare, with only a small table and four wooden chairs around it, and they sat wordlessly, waiting for Neville to speak. Terry seemed, as always, worried, his forehead creased and his mouth tight, while Parvati played with the tip of her braid, twirling it around and around in her fingers. Seamus, for his part, just felt confused.

"All right," Neville said, clapping his hands together. "Okay. All right."

"Nev?" said Parvati lightly. "What's going on?"

He bit his lip. "Okay, before we go on, I want you all to know that you can refuse to do this if you want, and I won't hold it against you."

"You might not," Terry said, pointing at Neville's chest, "but Ginny might. Whatever this is."

"She won't. She understands the kind of danger this will put you in."

A flash of pain shuddered its way up Seamus' spine, though whether it was real or just a phantom memory from his night in the dungeon he had no idea. It felt the same, hot and sharp, and his breath jumped for an instant. It was gone as soon as it came.

"Neville, just get on with it, will ya?" he said. The ghost flare had cleared his head and he stared into Neville's eyes unguardedly.

Neville took a breath and nodded at each of them in turn.

"Right. Here's what I want us to do."

::

They were in position: Neville at one end of the corridor outside the Great Hall, Seamus at the other, Parvati on Terry's shoulders in the center facing the wall, both heavily Disillusioned with gratuitous Notice-Me-Nots draped over them like blankets. Seamus and Neville themselves were hidden by nothing more than black clothing – in fact they both had their wands lit brightly to allow the other two to see – and Seamus' heart thudded in his chest, so loud he half-expected Mrs Norris to hear it and come running. But that was the point; they were the distraction. Luna and her group had the more important jobs tonight, running around the school depositing Quibblers on floors and under classroom doors, charming suits of armour to read aloud select lines from the article when passers-by walked through and giving copies to every bird in the Owlery. Lavender, Susan and Padma, for their part, were meant to be sitting in front of their respective common rooms' doors, barring others from exiting, even if it was almost midnight.

Seamus heard Neville's soft whistle from the other end of the corridor, and a big block letter appeared on the wall where he assumed Terry and Parvati to be. A _D._

The letters were slow coming. Too slow. This plan was so easy to fuck up – Peeves could come by at any moment, Filch could stumble upon Luna or Ernie or the others before he got to Neville and Seamus, Mrs Norris could find them before Parvati was done with the message, Snape could have decided on a late-night stroll through the corridors, a painting could alert the Carrows of their presence… Terry had gone through every single possibility with them at least ten times over, and each time it had seemed riskier and riskier. Yet no one had been willing to back down, so here Seamus was, crouched down, peering out at this corridor's intersection with the next, primed and ready to run for any disturbance.

Parvati had all but finished, needing only the _ING_ on the last word, when Seamus picked up a noise in his watch zone. Just a whisper of something, like cloth rubbing together.

He stilled. His heart burst out a staccato rhythm. He listened. He waited. He held his breath.

There was nothing. Maybe it had just been his adrenaline playing tricks; maybe it had been a painting shifting in its sleep. Regardless, he waited for forty-five seconds before relaxing slightly. Parvati was finishing up the _N_ now, Neville would be slinking up to Seamus in an instant…

He stared at the wall where the two-person tower should be, watching the very last letter appear, keeping another eye on Neville making his cautious way over, when all of a sudden—

"STUDENTS! STUDENTS OUT OF BED! IN THE CORRIDOR! PEEVES SEES STUDENTS!"

—and then came the red, terrifying eyes of Mrs Norris appeared in Neville's recently vacated spot. A squeak came from Parvati, followed by a _thump_ indicating Terry had let her down from his shoulders.

" _Go_ ," Neville hissed at them, and Seamus heard their steps running away rapidly. He almost followed them, adrenaline pressing him into action, but Neville grabbed his arm. "Ready?"

"ICKLE BADDIE STUDENTS BREAKING THE RULES! COME QUICK! STUDENTS OUT OF BED!"

Seamus nodded then turned to face the wall Parvati and Terry had not touched, the one already adorned with the four enormous hourglasses, glittering in the wandlight.

"One, two, three—" he counted off, then, at the same time as Neville: " _REDUCTO!_ "

The effect was instant, and Seamus barely had time to cover them with a shield charm before glass and gems rained down on them, spurring them into a quick sprint. That would hopefully keep the Carrows busy for a bit, he thought as he ran hard. He sensed Neville ahead of him, though he couldn't be sure because they'd both cast Disillusionments while running and the movement kept him from focussing long enough to see the tell-tale mirage-like wave that hid him. He concentrated on his strides, one foot in front of the other, ignoring the angered shouts that had begun behind them, when he ran into something hard and human, judging by the gush of air it let out.

"Fucking _hell_ , Finnigan," the person said, and Seamus looked up to see none other than Blaise Zabini blocking his way, eyes rather uncharacteristically wide, dimly lit by his wand.

Seamus had no time to take in anything other than that. "Jesus Christ, _run_ ," he said, and took off again, not pausing to contemplate the implications. He couldn't even hear Neville anymore, and certainly not Parvati and Terry, but he could hear the sounds of Zabini running behind him, _following_ him instead of going down to the dungeons like he should have been doing.

They sprinted up some stairs, avoiding the main staircases, jumping over trick steps like by habit, Zabini always a few feet behind, his breathing laboured and heavy. As they rounded one of the final corners, Seamus spotted a swish of red hair in front of them – Ginny – followed by blonde – Luna – and he pushed himself to finish the last burst, not even looking back to see how far Zabini was. If the man wanted to go down for a crime he didn't commit, so be it.

"Embers!" he heard Ginny grind out as she and Luna slid to a stop before the Fat Lady.

"Disturbing my sleep again? Ungrateful, thoughtless, tacky—" the Fat Lady grumbled as she swung in.

Zabini stumbled and stopped outside the door when they reached it, looking hunted – Seamus supposed that's because they were being hunted. Black eyes blazed with more emotion than they'd probably ever expressed, darting back and forth quickly, nostrils flared, mouth agape.

Seamus gripped his wand tightly and pointed it at the Slytherin. "I—" he began, trying to catch his breath, "I need you to – just be quiet, all right? I'm gonna – okay." He looked back at the Fat Lady, who had swung shut once more, and who was eyeing him them with particularly ravenous interest. "Once we get in there, go up the – shit, fuck, is that—" shouting could be heard from a floor down "—okay, go up the left staircase, all the way to the top, and just, wait there, all right?"

"Finnigan—" Zabini began, slowly regaining control of himself. He stood up straighter, but Seamus waved his wand impatiently.

"Try to hug the wall to get to the staircase. And be fucking quick about it, all right? This is going to feel weird." He tapped Zabini's head. " _Talpa concelum_." The Disillusionment trickled its way down his skull, and the last thing Seamus properly saw of Zabini was his wincing face. " _Silencio_. I'd do a proper Notice-Me-Not but – shit, okay. Let's go. And you—" he turned to the Fat Lady and pointed at her sternly, "—not a fucking word. Understood? Embers. Go!"

Seamus forced himself to pay no attention to where Zabini should be going and instead strode into the common room to find Neville, Ginny, Parvati, Lavender, Ritchie Cootes and Luna whispering fiercely around the fireplace. Appreciatively, he noticed that the light in the room was dim and prayed to his Nana's God that no one would notice Blaise. Of all the scenarios Terry had gone through, this had _not_ been one of them.

"Seamus, fuck," Ginny said as he quickly strode toward them, taking a slight detour around an armchair so as to divert attention from the portrait-hole as quickly as possible.

"Is everyone all right? Did anyone get caught?" he said.

"Su and Ernie." Neville face was tight as he spoke.

" _Su_ got caught?" Seamus asked. It seemed impossible – Ernie, at least, was overconfident and not generally stealthy, but Su was fast and strong and powerful. And worse still, Seamus felt somehow personally responsible, even though it was ridiculous. He knew so, too; he'd only worked with Su a few nights, and barely knew her. He wasn't her keeper, he was just her – her captain.

"They hit her with a body bind," Ritchie explained quietly. His hands were shaking and his lips were red and swollen from being gnawed on. "From behind. I think it was Goyle."

Luna laid a gentle hand on Seamus' arm and he realized how he must have looked – eyes half-crazed, breathing sharp and harsh, skin flushed red like it always did when he ran, hand so tight on his wand that his knuckles were turning white. Slowly, the adrenaline was draining away, leaving the strange reality of the situation: they'd just vandalized the school and deposited hundreds of pieces of propaganda throughout it, and Seamus had a Slytherin spy possibly (hopefully, even) hiding in his room. His room which had become a refuge for half of Hogwarts in the past week, and which he shared with another man anyway.

"She'll be all right, Seamus. They won't Crucio them," Ginny said. _How do you know_ , Seamus wanted to ask her, because mercy wasn't in their vocabulary, and if what Ritchie was saying was true, then they'd recruited minions to help them in their acts. Unsurprising, considering.

"I think it's best if we just go to bed before they make McGonagall come get us," Neville said.

Jerking her head toward him, Parvati's eyes narrowed. "They have no way of proving it was us, do they?"

"Well—" Lavender started, then stopped. She regarded them one by one. "Well, yes, they do. But— no, listen —but I don't think they can take away your wands for a Priori Incantatem, not without a warrant or, or, plausible cause, which they don't have."

"Ah," Luna said softly, and slowly they all turned to face where she was standing at Seamus' side. Seamus closed his eyes at the sound.

"Fuck," Ginny said.

"That about sums it up," Parvati added.

Neville passed a tired hand over his face then sighed. "Luna, I – I don't want you going anywhere alone. I mean it, not even the toilet, not even – just nowhere, okay?"

"Do ghosts and spirits count?" the girl asked lightly, calmer than Seamus was feeling, than any of them were.

"No," Neville said firmly. "No. Hopefully the Carrows will be distracted by the DEs coming tomorrow, so… lay low. I mean it now, let's go to bed."

Shit, shit, it was too soon, Seamus didn't know what to do about Zabini yet, he hadn't thought it through – thinking quickly, Seamus reached out to grab Lavender's wrist. "Might be better if you stay in yours tonight," he said, hoping desperately that she would buy it, "Fay and the others might get suspicious when they hear about this and realize you weren't around when it happened."

"Right. Yeah, you're right. Give us a kiss then," she said, turning out her cheek, and Seamus happily complied, relief flowing through him.

"Oh! Are we doing kisses now!" Luna cried and Seamus laughed despite himself as they made their way to the dormitories.

::

He thought, as he climbed the stairs, that he should warn Neville. Stop him before they reached the door and tell him who was waiting inside, but in the end he couldn't find the words to explain, and just let Neville push open the door with a strong hand and walk in as if nothing more was wrong.

Holding his breath, he waited for the shout, the hex, the impact – yet nothing came. He scanned the room quickly, trying to discern any odd chameleon-like shape, but he found nothing, saw nothing, and for a second he thought he'd imagined it all. Or maybe Zabini had found a way to escape after all, leave the Tower without him noticing. Maybe he'd find him tied to a post in the Great Hall tomorrow, or maybe just sitting down at Slytherin table with only Astoria Greengrass for company as he usually did, or straight-backed and focussed in Potions.

"You all right?" Neville asked, pulling off his clothes and reaching into his trunk for pyjamas.

"Yeah, yeah. Just, you know, coming down from the rush." Carefully, slowly, he stripped to his pants and slid open the curtain to his bed. Then promptly closed it again.

Neville looked at him in askance. "Seamus?"

"Forgot to brush my teeth," he said quickly. Which was true. What was also true was that there was a distinct Slytherin-sized shape in his bed, pressed up against the wall and sitting cross-legged, staring at him blankly when he had looked inside.

"You're all splotchy, you know," the mirror said as he spit his toothpaste in the sink.

He sneered weakly. "Ach, shut it."

After peeing, passing the razor over his face quickly, washing his hands, brushing his teeth a second time and finally, cutting his fingernails, there was nothing to be done but go back to the dormitory and face Zabini. The man in his bed. His Slytherin spy. Who was, by all accounts, a complete arse, and could barely be trusted, especially not in a towerful of Gryffindors, in Seamus' room, with Neville, then man he'd once Imperiused.

"What time d'you want to wake up tomorrow? I'll set my alarm," Neville asked when he returned, holding up his bedside clock and his wand.

"Er, seven-thirty all right?" Seamus looked around helplessly, but there was nothing he could do.

Neville, for his part, was sitting on his bed now, his head in his hands. "We didn't think this through. I'm responsible now for whatever happens to—"

"Neville," Seamus cut him off quickly, not wanting to share more details aloud than he had to, "everything will be okay in the end. Let's just sleep, and we'll deal with it tomorrow."

"Right. Right. You're right. G'night, then."

Steeling himself, Seamus slipped into bed, barely disturbing the curtains in case Neville caught a glimpse. Really, he should have told him, and he didn't know why he was keeping Zabini a secret – Neville knew about his spies anyway, Mo and Dobby and Zabini. But he was tired, so tired, and didn't want to go into it, didn't know how to explain it to himself or to Neville. Why had he not just left Zabini there?

He opened his eyes to find the man staring at him, his body melting into the shadows, still cross-legged and straight-backed.

" _Muffliato_ ," Seamus murmured. It wasn't all that odd for one of them to cast a silencing charm on their bed at night; they'd all done it in order to have privacy for wanking, though more often than not he suspected Harry had used to so as not to wake the others with his nightmares. Neville wouldn't think anything of it if he noticed. Seamus did not let go of his wand, and regarded the other man guardedly. "What were you doing out there?"

"It's not a crime to go for a walk." Zabini's voice was low, cold and incredibly silky, and Seamus had never before realized how small the Hogwarts beds were, not even when he shared it with Lavender or last year with Justin.

"Actually, this late at night it is."

Silence. Then: "Why did you bring me here?"

Seamus interpreted it as _why did you save me?_ He didn't know the answer, so he countered it with another question: "Why did you follow me?" which really was _why did you allow yourself to be saved?_

Zabini said nothing, only stared on, rarely blinking, and Seamus found himself holding his breath. "You can slip into another bed in a bit. And you need to be out of here before anyone wakes up."

In the darkness, Seamus thought he saw Zabini raise a perfect eyebrow. "You're trusting me," he said, not quite a whisper, but still low enough to cause shivers.

"I can't afford not to," Seamus replied. It wasn't like he had a choice in this matter; he couldn't kick Zabini out and risk the Carrows finding him, he knew too much, and he couldn't turn him into McGonagall or even Neville, because that would without a doubt cause problems with their arrangement. "You said it once," he continued slowly, "I'm hedging by bets."

"Your bets," Zabini repeated. It was almost a question.

"I might need you one day," Seamus said simply. A debt: something a consummate Slytherin like Blaise Zabini would definitely understand.

Zabini shifted almost imperceptibly – Seamus only noticed but for the soft noise of fabric brushing across fabric. And finally, he felt like he was beginning to learn the rules and play the game.

Neville began snoring, raspy and whuffling, across the room, and suddenly, so fucking suddenly, Zabini's body collided with his and they were kissing, rough and angry and teeth and tongue and bites and lips and _hands_ all over. Seamus' brain barely had time to catch up to his mouth and when it did, it was intercepted by a much more _pressing_ issue, in the form of Zabini pulling off their shirts one after the other then lowering his head to kiss Seamus' neck and collarbone and ear. It was everything his kiss with Ginny had not been; it was wet, it was _dirty_ , it was good, he was so hard.

"What—" Seamus gasped. He'd forgotten what it was to have another body pressed to yours, skin against skin, breath mingling with breath, and it was enough that now he forgot who was doing this to him. He closed his eyes when Zabini bit the spot where his jaw met his ear then licked it, eliciting a groan from Seamus. Zabini pulled away abruptly.

"If you don't want this, say it now and I'll go. If you do, shut the fuck up," he said, voice more cool and controlled than Seamus could have ever mustered. Of course it was.

"Shutting up," Seamus said, and began to kiss Zabini's jaw with relish. _Later_ , he thought dazedly, he would think about the implications of this later.

::

He didn't know whether or not Zabini had fallen asleep, naked and sticky, after rolling away from a still-panting Seamus and turning to face the wall. The man's breath had evened out quickly though, and for all he'd spoken about Seamus trusting him, it seemed he was equally confident that Seamus wouldn't curse him either.

Seamus wanted to feel guilty about it. He knew it was bad. He shouldn't have had sex with Zabini, he shouldn't have even brought him to the tower. Probably shouldn't have struck up a deal with him in the first place. But he had, and he was here, feeling hazy and boneless, listening to Zabini breathe and trying not to think about how his skin was just two shades too dark and his eyes too light and his accent not quite right.

When he woke, Zabini was gone, and Neville wished him good morning with a bleary smile, and the mirror didn't even say anything about the bruises he hastily healed, swearing.

He wouldn't do it again, he decided. He couldn't. What would Dean say?

* * *

Let's be friends and talk about these dorks. I'm on tumblr under the same name, and AO3 too.


	16. Fear

General content warning for this chapter: Greyback is featured in it, and as we know, he's an allegory for a r*pist pedophile. So, you know, canonical creepiness ahead.

Thanks for reading, and as always, I'd love to read your thoughts. My tumblr is ffffinnigan, let's be friends.

* * *

Before the war, before feeling true absolute pain for the first time, and feeling the loss of Dean like a missing limb, before headlines flashing death and kidnappings and riots on the Prophet daily, before Hogwarts became a battleground and its classrooms deep trenches, breakfast had been Seamus' favourite meal of the day. Nutritionally speaking, of course, it still was: eggs, toast, bacon, sausages, bowls of perfect fruit and fresh elf-made pumpkin juice, milky coffee and crispy waffles. Then there were the sleepy smiles, Lavender's wet hair parted and braided precisely, the flutter of owl wings and hoots bidding them all good morning, Neville still rubbing the grittiness out of his eyes hazily, Luna humming a soft melody, Tony greeting them with a brilliant smile and whatever thought had crossed his mind since the last time they say him. And going back further, Dean's sleepy frown peeking out from behind his curtains, the way he couldn't quite walk straight upon waking, the droplets of water rolling down his torso down to the blue striped towel he always wrapped around his hips after his shower. He supposed that wasn't strictly part of breakfast, but then two were tangled together in his mind. Yes, Seamus had rhapsodized about the morning meal to Dean countless times, extolling the virtues of yogurt parfaits and his mam's favourite orange pekoe, but never before had Seamus dreaded breakfast as much as he did now, entering the Great Hall with trepidation, his stomach churning not with hunger but with some kind of anxiety and simmering fear.

What the fuck kind of mess had he gotten himself into, letting Zabini into his bed and into him last night? So much for professional distance. The worst was that that was the least of his worries right now – at least he'd gotten an orgasm out of that bad decision. And then another in the shower after letting his thoughts stray to Zabini and the specific twist his long fingers had done inside of Seamus, new and filling and sharp and _good_. What did it say about him that he kept going back to that, unable to focus on the new problems at hand – the Death Eaters coming to Hogwarts, and protecting Luna, and finding out what happened to Su and Ernie?

In his preoccupation, he'd forgotten all about the actual purpose of the mission last night, and now that he looked around, he saw heads bent together, heard whisperings, saw almost every student holding a brightly flashing Quibbler with an extremely unflattering caricatures of the Carrow siblings and Snape on the front, courtesy of Luna Lovegood. The headline boldly read "HOGWARTS: SCHOOL OF WIZARDRY OR SCHOOL OF TORTURE?" with promises of interviews with students on the inside. He'd read it before last night's mission, and it had been good: Luna, though sometimes a bit disconcerting in her observations and even wilder in her theories, had a knack for laying out the facts as they were, and Anthony, who'd helped her write the exclusive, knew exactly how to phrase things to have the most impact. Every single bird in the owlery had flown in, each carrying another Quibbler, and concerned letters from home. By the first class of the day, every person in Hogwarts was going to have read the article, and thought Seamus knew he should be afraid of the resident Death Eaters' reactions, he was a bit excited to see them too.

And then there had been the little bit of graffiti he'd partaken in. The hourglasses had not yet been repaired, though the gems vanished, and Seamus half-suspected Filch to have been scrubbing at the wall the whole night. He had already been at it when students began making their way into the Great Hall before breakfast, though the message proclaiming _DUMBLEDORE'S ARMY: STILL RECRUITING!_ was not going to be worn off anytime soon.

All in all, it had created a sense of chaos, which seemed to mirror Seamus' frantic mood, and he surveyed the whole scene with something akin to satisfaction, though his stomach was still revolting at the thought of food.

"Seamus? Oi, Ireland!" He hadn't even noticed Lavender taking his hand under the table or Anthony, who was waving a mug in front of his face trying to get his attention. He started. "Need a map there?"

"What? Why?" he asked as Lavender pulled her hand away with two soft pats and reached over to grab a bowl of fruit.

"You seemed a little lost, mate," Anthony said. Maturely, Seamus stuck his tongue out at him before grabbing the mug from his hand and pouring out some coffee from a hot carafe.

"Speaking of being lost," Neville said as he arrived with Hannah in tow, "Ernie and Su are fine, and Han's been to check on them."

"Oh! And?" The coffee burned a bit on its way down, but he welcomed the feeling.

"Just the regular," Neville said, lowering his voice. "Split lips, few bad bruises. Su sprained her wrist trying to get out of her bonds."

"Of course she did," Lavender murmured at Seamus' side. He felt the rush of relief shudder through him and let out a long breath.

"Expect a full report by this afternoon."

Seamus nodded and stared down at his plate, not remembering when he had filled it, and not feeling able to consume anything but coffee.

"Where's Luna?" Hannah asked and Neville jerked his head in the general direction of the Gryffindor table.

"With Gin. So far, nothing."

"Overheard some interesting gossip in town the other day," Lavender said, leaning into Seamus, eyes gleaming the way it always did when she had a particularly salacious bit of news. He raised an eyebrow, bidding her to continue. "It seems a certain Mrs Rosalia Zabini has broken off her engagement with Greengrass Senior—"

"Greengrass? Senior?" Seamus cut her off.

"Daphne and Astoria Greengrass' grandfather. Do keep up, it was all over the Prophet society pages back in July." She sniffed, and if he hadn't been trying to coax information out of her, he would have told her she sounded a bit like Pansy Parkinson.

"You know I don't read that corrupt shite."

"Maybe you should, you know, to keep an eye on—" Anthony cut in quickly, but Lavender silenced him with a prim wave of her hand.

"I wasn't done, thank you. I said, she broke off her engagement, to take up with Bruno Travers."

"Travers?" Neville's head jerked up at the word. "Thought he was in Azkaban."

"Well, this wasn't in the Prophet of course, but the Quibbler reported a mass breakout in August. I say breakout, but I mean—"

"Ministry-led?" Anthony supplied.

Lavender nodded solemnly. "He's at the DMLE now. Handsome salary, so I hear. And now—"

Suddenly, Seamus was pulled off his seat and sent flying back, hitting his rump hard on the stone floor. He let out a sharp shout as pain exploded up from his tailbone into the sinews of his back, and looked up through clouded vision to see Alecto Carrow smirking at him at the end of the aisle, wand in hand.

"The fuck was _that_ for!" he yelled before he could think better of it, and her grin only widened. Silence fell across the Hall like a wave, beginning at the Ravenclaw table, where he'd sat quite without thinking earlier, following Anthony and a still-shaking Terry. Lavender gasped at his cry as did many surrounding him. Painstakingly, he tried to push himself up off the floor, only to be pushed down again by a burst of magic.

"From now on," Alecto began, her voice amplified by a Sonorus, "students will sit at their own tables, with their own houses, and they will line up before meals. They will not eat before every student of their house is present, and they will stay silent throughout each meal. Understood?"

Seamus gaped up at her from the floor, and a sudden burst of muttering began throughout the room.

"She asked if you dimwits understood!" Amycus cried from his position at the head table, his greasy voice louder still. "Do you?"

A strange chorus of _yes_ could be heard – Jack Sloper's voice was distinctively loud and angry from the Gryffindor table, while most were hesitant and confused.

"We are to have esteemed guests here at Hogwarts for the rest of the year," Amycus said, and Seamus finally felt the spell that was holding him down lifting. He chose, however, to stay down, lest she take that as an excuse to do it again. His arse, still sore from last night, was smarting fiercely. "You _will_ show them the proper respect, and you _will_ be on your best behaviour. Furthermore, as you may have noticed, Hogwarts seemed to have been victim of a particularly childish act of vandalism this past night. We have, of course, through our own cunning, apprehended two of the perpetrators. However," and she punctuated this with a clack of her heel, "if any members of _Dumbledore's Army_ would like to come forward, we would be most grateful and would reward them handsomely."

Her voice dripped with disgust as she spoke Dumbledore's name.

"In the meantime," she continued, crossing her arms, "my fellow professors and I have discussed it, and we agree that any Army activity will earn the perpetrators, or suspected perpetrators, immediate punishment. Is that clear?"

This time, the students answered without any prompting, hundreds of voices speaking together. Seamus shivered.

"Oh, and anyone found in possession of a Quibbler _will_ earn themselves detention."

An errant magazine that had fallen to the floor before her burst into flames at an incantation from the head table – it was Snape who had done it.

"What are you still doing on the floor, Finnigan? Get to class, all of you!" Alecto barked before turned and clomping over to the professors' dais. Seamus scrambled to push himself up and look around at the frightened, pale faces.

"Seamus! Are you hurt?" Lavender rushed over to help him up and straighten his robes.

"Not more than I can handle," he said, hugging her tightly. The students all around began to make their way out of the hall, and hushed, anxious murmurs reached his ears.

"I'm scared, Seamus," she whispered into his ear, and over her shoulder, he caught Blaise Zabini's eyes staring at him blankly from across the Hall. He held them, unblinking, until Lavender let go and put her arm around his waist.

Yes, breakfast may have been ruined forever.

"We'll be okay," he said. "You and me, we always come out okay."

He couldn't tell her not to be afraid, not when he felt it too, and for a second he was glad that he hadn't been able to eat anything, because as he looked one last time at the head table and saw Snape's cold gaze, he thought he might have been sick.

::

If the castle had felt cold and unwelcoming and empty before, it was nothing compared to now, with students darting to and from rooms and corridors between classes, taking refuge in their common rooms even more than before, too frightened to speak or catch another's eye in the halls and in classrooms. However, word had gotten around quickly, and by lunchtime it was common knowledge that more Death Eaters would be taking up residence in the castle, though no one knew whom exactly.

The Slytherins were the only ones who felt safe enough to speak freely, and speak they did – laughing boisterously, sneering openly, joking with the Carrows. Parkinson and Nott were the worst of the bunch, their Head Girl and Boy badges freshly shined on their robes, taking pleasure in terrorizing even the smallest Hufflepuffs. And it had only been a few hours.

"How pathetic," Seamus heard Parkinson drawl to a small group that contained Malfoy, Nott and the eldest Greengrass, standing in the grand corridor and staring up at Parvati's handiwork from last night. "They're just a silly bunch of Mudlbood-lovers with a few jinxes memorized. Disgusting."

"They don't think they'll ever be able to touch the Dark Lord, do they?" Nott said, snickering as Seamus hid behind a corner.

"They're so stupid, they might yet try," Greengrass spat.

"They'll die trying," Nott said. He turned away and examined his cuticles.

"Good riddance," Parkinson said, her nose upturned. They walked away still tittering loudly and Seamus closed his eyes. He'd heard it before, or variations of it, but that's not what set his heart beating. It was hearing Greengrass speak like that, and thinking back to Lavender's piece of news from this morning. He knew Zabini spoke almost exclusively to Astoria Greengrass, and even if it made sense as to why now, if her sister was a pureblood elitist like that, then it stood to reason the whole family was, and if Zabini's mother had almost married the grandfather then… could Zabini have been raised in that kind of environment, could he be playing Seamus?

A yelp behind him startled him out of his convoluted thoughts and he spun around, his breath stopping at the sight that greeted him. A man, if you could call it that, for he was so hairy and his eyes so yellow he looked very much like a wolf, had trapped someone – _Lavender, Lavender, it's Lavender_ – between two bracketed arms, leaning against the stone walls, and was breathing heavily and – Seamus saw once he fully turned to look – licking his lips. His robes were dirty and town and his mane greasy, and Lavender was shaking, trembling so hard Seamus could see it from his end of the corridor.

"So pretty," the man said, his voice barely more than a hoarse rasp, "so lovely and small."

"Get – p-please get a-a-away from me," Lavender squeaked. The man was wearing holey gloves and his fingers were dirty where they showed through, and when he raised a finger to touch Lavender's pale cheek, it left a trail of black.

"I've always loved blondes," the man breathed. Seamus felt the fire burning in him again – this man was touching Lavender, _his_ Lavender, strong, caring Lavender, whose mouth was still stained purple from the lolly she'd had this morning, whose wand had fallen away and was near her feet. She had squeezed her eyes shut at the touch and closed her mouth tightly, and Seamus _burned_. "Maybe if you're naughty, your professors will let me play with you. Have a bite or two of your pretty, pretty skin."

Seamus felt it, fuelled by anger and protectiveness, but though he didn't feel like reigning in his feelings now, he remembered what McGonagall and Pomfrey had said: precision, control, _power_. He felt the burning magic flow under his skin and concentrated on the hem of the man's robes, feeling the intensity of his hatred for this person.

"Don't – fucking – touch – her," he said through gritted teeth, and just as the man spun around the bottom of his robes caught fire and Lavender crumpled to the floor, her legs giving out.

"Christ!" the man yelled and tried to take a step toward Seamus, but the flames were licking their way up his robes so he could do nothing but take his wand out and frantically cast _Aguamenti_ s on them.

"Finnigan!" McGonagall's sharp voice rang out and Seamus looked through his red haze to see his Head of House bearing down upon him, then, as quickly as she'd appeared, notice Lavender and run to her instead. "Mr. Greyback, I will _not_ have you harassing my students!" she cried as she knelt down beside Lavender, who had subsided to choking sobs. Suddenly, Seamus' anger receded as he took in the situation, and with it, so did the fire claiming Greyback's robes. The name clicked in his head – it was Fenrir Greyback, _the_ Fenrir Greyback, and now his wild canine appearance made sense. It all made sense.

Greyback had now stopped try to put out the fire, and he advanced to face Seamus with still-smoking robes, giving an altogether terrifying effect. His teeth were as yellow as his eyes and as he approached Seamus could tell his breath stank like rot, but Seamus did not cower, and decided to do exactly what Dean and Terry and Lavender and Neville and Hannah and McGonagall would advise him not to do. Ginny, though, Ginny would probably clap him on the back and congratulate him.

Seamus spit in Fenrir Greyback's face.

"Finnigan, is that right?" Greyback rasped as he slowly wiped off the glob of saliva that had landed on his chin, a manic glint in his eyes. "I'll be sure to remember that. See you around, Finnigan."

And with that, the wolf-man stalked away, leaving Seamus shuddering as the adrenaline and anger drained out.

"Seamus?" Lavender hiccoughed through her inky tears as McGonagall helped her up. He ran to catch her waist and wrap his arms around her, trying in vain to still her shaking as he rubbing his hand over her back.

"Shh, love, he's gone. I've got you."

"Finnigan, normally I would reprimand you for starting yet _another_ fire," McGonagall said, leaving him to support the blonde, "but in this case, I will just tell you to watch your back."

"Ach," he grunted, pressing a kiss to Lavender's forehead, "my back, my front, my head, my toes. You've got it."

The professor lifted her eyes to focus on the message painted across the wall in the adjacent corridor – the first few letters were visible from here.

"Your work?" she murmured, raising an eyebrow.

"No ma'am, not mine. Lav, it's okay, hey. We're going to be okay, remember? You and me."

"You and _I_ , Finnigan." McGonagall had a certain tenderness around the set of her mouth that offset her exasperated tone.

"If you wanted to give me a hug too, Professor, you just had to ask," he said, and Lavender giggled in between sniffles. It was a beautiful sound.

"Miss Brown," McGonagall said instead of answering, "would you like to come have lunch in my office? I believe Poppy will be joining us also."

A group of second year Ravenclaws appeared at the end of the corridor followed by the Fat Friar humming a hymn, and Lavender stood up straighter, wiping his face on the sleeve of her robes. "Yes, I think I will," she said, her voice stronger already. "Thanks, Seamus. You should go eat now."

"You're all right, though?" he asked, still worried. The mark Greyback had left on her cheek was slowly being obscured by tracks of mascara, but it was still visible under the wetness, and it made him want to retch.

"Well. For now," she said softly. "I'll see you later."

With a last squeeze of her hand she went on her way with McGonagall, and Seamus was left alone in the corridor, unwilling to go into the Great Hall alone, but hungrier than normal because of his lack of breakfast. His stomach made the decision for him with a lurching rumble, and he steeled his shoulders and turned to go down the corridor. He'd be okay. He'd promised Lavender that they both would be. He'd promised Dean that too, when Dean had left, and his mother, when he'd gotten on the train in September, and Hannah too, that night in Gryffindor Tower with Neville curled around her waist. He couldn't go back on his promises now.


End file.
